Crimson Threads
by DeathlyMarshmallows
Summary: An in-depth exploration into the backstories and personalities of the characters of Disney's Beauty and the Beast. Semi-prequel, but will eventually explore life during and after the events of the movie.
1. Chartreuse

_This story originally started out as a straight up prequel story, but now I have decided to make it a full-on fan fiction that expands the Beauty and the Beast universe. It is a "semi-prequel" as it will eventually explore life during and after the events of the movie. The first couple of chapters are very original character-heavy(which I know can be a major turn-off for some readers), but please give this story a chance._

* * *

**Chapter One**

_June 5th, 1686_

"Theee-seee-usss!"

Theseus smiled to himself as he heard the ever familiar loud and cheery voice of his student. Former student, he corrected himself. He sipped his tea and turned to page 357 of _Pottering Around!: A Journey Through the World of Ceramic Pottery_. Moments later, an attractive blonde woman who appeared to be her early thirties burst into the room, almost knocking over a thousand year vase.

"Good Evening, Ariana," Theseus said, not looking up, as he turned another page.

"Good Evening, Theseus. Reading again? You should take a break once in a while. You'll go blind. It's a lovely night out. Why don't you go for a walk?"

"What are you doing back?" Theseus asked, ignoring her rambling, "I thought you'd be in the Americas by now. Isn't that what you've always said you'd do? After you finally finished studying, you'd go on a long, long trip around the world where "there'd be no boring old men to bother you.""

"Yes, well, I was going. I had my bag packed and everything. But then I -" she paused as she noticed a bottle of wine and two glasses sitting on the small wooden table near where he sat.

"You knew I was coming back."

"You assume that I would bring out my best wine, and my finest glasses just for you? You are presumptive, my dear Ariana."

Ariana frowned.

"Who else would you be expecting?"

"I do have a life outside of you, you know."

Ariana sat down and sulked.

"Ariana, I have mentored you for over a century now. You're a big girl now. You can make it on your own."

He poured wine into the two glasses and handed one to her.

"Now, why are you here?"

"Well," she sat down and sipped from the glass, "I went for a walk today. Just along the river. I saw a young lady sitting by the riverbank, reading a book. She actually reminded me of you a bit, so I stopped and watched her for a while."

Theseus raised an eyebrow

"You watched her?"

"Yes. Mortals are fascinating. The way they go about in their lives, ignorantly living in peace, while they have no idea what we do for them. Anyway, meanwhile, a young man rode by on a horse, with an older man. I think it was his father. And as he passed the young lady, I saw it," Ariana whispered with an excited tone in her voice.

Theseus could only stare at the younger woman in confusion.

"Saw what?"

"IT! That little red spark. The sign that they are destined to be together."

Theseus shook his head. While she was a brilliant enchantress, Ariana was so idealistic when it came to romance.

"You can't see that kind of thing, Ariana. It's just your imagination running away with you again."

"I can! I have a talent for it! Anyway, I couldn't bear to think that these two could just go on with their lives and not know that they came so close to meeting their soulmate. So I... knocked him off his horse. The young lady heard his screams of pain and looked up from her book, and she rushed over. Love at first sight." She sighed wistfully.

Theseus, however, did not look as impressed.

"You should know better than to mess with love, Ariana. Don't make trouble."

"I was just helping them. Imagine if they went their entire lives without meeting."

"If they were truly meant to be together, they'd find each other eventually."

"I don't see what's so wrong with helping them. They'd probably have never met each other if I didn't step in."

Theseus fingered some of the books in his shelf.

"The Chinese say that an invisible red string is tied around the ankles of those who are destined to one day meet. The string may twist and stretch and tangle, but it will never break."

"Exactly! If it can't break then why is it wrong for me to push things along a little. What if they didn't meet each other until they are both old and about to die?"

Theseus sighed in defeat. There was no reasoning with Ariana when it came to this kind of thing.

"You're just a romantic at heart, Ariana. A troublemaker, but a romantic."

"It's just a part of my new life's purpose."

"Your "new life's purpose.""

"I've decided to devote my life to doing good deeds. Rewarding the selfless and punishing the selfish. Making the world a better place."

"Oh, Ariana. That's noble of you, but you shouldn't interfere like that. Besides, you'll probably have another "new life's purpose" next week."

"You're going to miss me when your next student comes. I wonder who it'll be. Some boring bookish young man, I suppose. Someone just like you. The son you never had. "

"There is no "next student"."

"What?"

"I think I'll retire to the countryside." Theseus spoke as he circled the rim of his wine glass, "A nice little cottage, some daffodils in the garden."

"How boring," Ariana tried to say derisively, but instead had a dreamy look on her face, "I didn't finish telling you why I came back."

"No, you didn't. Well, make it quick. It's much too late. I'm old. I need to sleep."

"You know how I knew that little spark was a sign that that young couple were soulmates? I've seen it before. Many, many times."

Ariana placed her empty glass down and slowly moved towards her old mentor.

"And you know, every time I saw it, I was with you. And I never knew what it was, until now. How could I have been so ignorant?"

She forced Theseus's glass from his hands and placed it down on the table. She moved even closer to him and put her face directly in front of his.

"What are you doing, Ari-" Theseus began to say before he was plunged deep into a kiss by his former student. She pulled away and smiled devilishly at him.

"You can't fight fate, Theseus."


	2. Isabelline

**Chapter Two**

Not far from an immense shining castle, there was a tiny little house on the outskirts of a tiny little village in a tiny little province in France. Its inhabitant, a tall, handsome, if not intimidating, man with sparkling green eyes and long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, was actually quite jovial and pleasant. In contrast, his wife, a thin little woman with brown hair done up in a neat bun, had a haughty no-nonsense demeanor that had many of their fellow townspeople wondering just how a man like Aubin Desrosiers had fallen in love with her.

Despite their differences and their little wealth, Aubin and Isabelle lived an extremely happy life together. They made a very meagre living by growing and selling flowers which grew on the land near their house. The profession brought in little money, but they enjoyed the job so much that never had to the desire to seek out any other form of work.

The couple lived happily alone for many years, before Isabelle gave birth to twin boys. Michel, who resembled a cherub at birth, and was twenty minutes older than his twin brother, was the lovely little baby that every mother dreamed of having. With his pink little cheeks and shining green eyes, he looked just like his father.

His brother, Maurice, was sickly at birth and did not look at all like a cherub and, with the exception of his shining green eyes, did not resemble his father at all.

While Michel grew up to be an active, boisterous, and cheery young boy, Maurice was a short and chubby child who never seemed interested in playing the same old rough violent games with the other children. Instead he preferred to dream. He dreamed of life outside of his tiny little village. He dreamed of making advancements in technology and making life easier for everyone by invention fantastic devices.

Aubin, despite thinking that his son's desires were a little odd, supported and encouraged his dreams. With his father's support Maurice created a number of amazing inventions, including a system that would water the roses automatically, and a device that would allow water to be brought from the well to the kitchen instantaneously.

Unfortunately, just after Maurice and Michel's tenth birthday, the little village became plagued with typhoid fever, claiming Aubin as one its victims. Isabelle, distraught over her husband's death, holed herself up in her room and refused to come out, leaving her sons to fend for themselves.

* * *

_15th of December, 1723_

With the exception of the drumming of Josette's fingertips on the ancient wooden desk by the window, the whole room was quiet. Too quiet, the small honey blonde boy thought as he lay on his bed, morosely staring up at the ceiling.

"I'm bored," he whined, causing Josette to snap out of her daydream and look at her friend.

"You're always bored."

"I am not!" Renaud snapped at her, "and stop doing that. You're giving me a headache."

It wasn't really bothering him. He just wanted an excuse to yell at her.

"Doing what?"

"That tapping thing with your fingers."

Josette stood up and glared at him.

"You're in a terrible mood today. If you yell at me again, I'm going to play with my sister. At least she doesn't snap at me!"

Renaud rolled his eyes. "Of course not! She can't even talk."

"She can too!" Josette said defensively, "she can say my name! Remember, I showed you yesterday."

"Sounded more like she said "jassetwick" to me."

"She can also say "spoon" and "book". We're working on "bubble" now. Anyway, she's just a baby, it's not like she has anything important to say."

Renaud considered this for a moment.

"I guess so," he replied as got up to take the seat Josette had vacated, and began to stare longingly out of the window. An idea coming to him, he leapt up from his chair, grabbed her hand and began to pull her outside

"Come on!"

"Stop pulling so hard! I'm coming."

* * *

It was a peculiar sight. While the rest of the village had been overcome with the usual winter gloom, the bookshop stood seemingly untouched by the snow and rain. The shop had appeared seemingly overnight a month ago, which had caused a small bit of town gossip, but other than that, it was generally unnoticed by most of the townsfolk.

Maurice wondered what had possessed the shop's owner to open up a business like this in this town. With the exception of his mother and father, the fifteen year old had never seen anyone else in the town read anything except the bible and a few books about farming. In fact he doubted that most the town's inhabitants could read at all.

Summing up his courage, he entered the bookshop. A little bell attached to the door signalled his arrival. Maurice looked around for the shopkeeper. There were strange paintings and odd little statues everywhere. It was a peculiar sight, but Maurice had never been into a bookshop before. Maybe they were all like this?

The smell of old books overcrowded his senses. He hoped the shopkeeper would come back soon. Maurice began to cough. Didn't this person ever dust the place?

"Hello, lad."

Overcoming his coughing fit, Maurice turned around to find an old, bearded man smiling at him.

"Uh. Hello," Maurice said timidly, as he looked at the bookseller nervously.

"Do you need anything?"

"A book. I need a book, Monsieur..."

"Devin."

"Monsieur Devin. I need a book for my mother. For Christmas."

"And nothing for your brother?"

Maurice stared at him. How did he know he had a brother?

"No. Thank you, but I don't think books interest my brother that much."

"What kinds of books does your mother like to read?"

"Uh," Maurice didn't actually know his mother that well, "I don't know. I know she likes to read, but I haven't seen her read anything since I was a child. There was this one story she used to read us, about a horrible monster and a brave knight."

"Oh?" Monsieur Devin took out a book, seemingly out of nowhere, and handed it to Maurice. "Do you think she would this? It doesn't have any monsters or knights in it, but it does have a princess and a dragon."

"A dragon? I guess she'd like it." His mother hadn't really liked anything since her husband had died, but he could try at least.

"Do you want anything? A gift for yourself perhaps?"

"Uh, well..." He looked around at the shelves. He really did want to look around, but they were poor and he could never be able to buy anything. "No."

"Are you sure? I have books on archaeology, mythology, theology. Any ology you could ever want." Monsieur Devin laughed.

"Do you have any books about inventions?" Maurice asked, unable to help himself.

"Inventions? Hmmm. Aha!"

Monsieur Devin pulled a book off the shelf and handed it to Maurice.

"Radical Thinking: How Machines Will Create Their Own Future by Marcel Charron?"

"He's a famous inventor in Paris."

"Oh," Maurice had never heard of him, although he didn't want to admit it, "but I can't afford this. I only have enough money for my mother's present."

"You can have them both for free. Consider it my Christmas present to you."

A smile spread across the teenager's face. "Really? Thank you."

"Anytime. Now hurry along. I think it might start to snow soon."

Maurice waved good bye to the bookseller and clutched the books to his chest and hurried back to his house.

* * *

Josette and Renaud stood back, and began to proudly admire their handiwork. Pierre, as they had christened him, was their latest masterpiece. Four feet tall, with little lumps of coles for eyes, which they had gotten from the fireplace in the sitting room, and a hat and scarf they had "borrowed" from James.

Renaud frowned slightly. "His nose is a little crooked," he said as leaned in to adjust the carrot they gotten from the kitchens. Josette rolled her eyes.

"Perfect," Renaud declared to himself, just before he felt something cold hit the back of his head.

He turned around to see Josette giggling and bending down to procure her next icy weapon. Never one to run from a fight and bring shame his family's name, Renaud began collecting snow too. He wasn't fast enough though, and before he knew it, he was being pounded with dozens snowballs, one by one. Josette fell on to the snow-covered ground, overcome with laughter. Renaud smirked and gathered a large amount of snow up in his cloak, ran over, and dumped it all on Josette as she lay on ground laughing.

Josette stood up and glared. She ran over and pounced on Renaud, knocking over poor Pierre in the process. She and Renaud lay there in there, in the middle of Pierre's icy remains, laughing, until they felt a shadow creep over them.

A very tall fierce-looking man looked down on them. He would have looked very threatening, had he not been holding the hand of a little toddler, who was absentmindedly staring at two birds in a tree.

"Papa!" Josette sat up and smiled up at him, unperturbed by her father's imposing presence.

"Josette, Master Renaud," he spoke, acknowledging the two children. Renaud shuddered. Even though he known and studied under him for many years, Josette's father never failed to make him feel uncomfortable.

"Gah!" the toddler yelled happily, getting her sister's attention.

"Baby!" Josette kneeled down to kiss her sister on the head.

"It's time for your lesson, Master Renaud. And," he turned to his daughter, "Where have you been all morning? You were supposed to take care of Babette all day."

"I'm sorry, Papa," Josette looked down, ashamed. After her mother had died in child bed not long after Babette's birth, Josette had taken to caring for her younger sister while her father worked, which meant she had little time to play anymore. She had become a surrogate mother at only eight years old.

"Come along Babette."

Josette took her sister's and glanced back at Renaud, and walked across the grounds leaving Renaud alone with her father.

Renaud shifted uncomfortably under the imposing glare of Josette's father.

"Come, Your Highness. We have a lot of work to do."

Renaud sadly watched Josette walk inside of the castle, before following his tutor inside himself.


	3. Sunglow

**Chapter Three**

_May 21st, 1734_

"Maurice! Maurice, where are you?"

Maurice sighed, put down the old and worn book, and went to answer his dying mother's call.

He wearily opened the door and entered the room, which was filled with the vague scent of impending death. His mother lay propped against a pile of pillows, pale, fragile, and thinner than she'd ever been. She looked up at her son when he entered. While she was deathly ill and her body had been ravaged by illness, Maurice could still see the spark of her youth left in her big brown eyes.

Maurice moved to her bedside and dutifully kissed her on the cheek.

"Yes, Maman? What do you want?"

"Where's your brother?"

"He has gone out, Maman. He'll be back soon."

At that moment, as if on cue, they heard the door slam. Seconds later, Maurice's tall, handsome twin brother, Michel, walked in, carrying a bouquet of lilies.

"Maman! Madame Bouvier told me to give these to you." Michel smiled and held the flowers out to his mother. Isabelle eyed them distastefully.

"What am I going to do with those?" she asked. Michel groaned.

"They're a gift, Maman."

Isabelle didn't look impressed. "Hmmph. I've got plenty of flowers. I've seen enough flowers to last me a lifetime."

"But Maman!" Michel moaned.

Isabelle took the flowers reluctantly and glared at them as if they had just offended her.

"Lilies? The flower of death. Is this some kind of cruel joke? Maurice, find a vase to put these in."

"She could have put a little more thought into it, Maman," Michel reasoned. "But you have to appreciate the-."

"You know," his mother interrupted him "No one has ever given me what I really want."

Both Maurice and Michel groaned. They knew what was coming.

"You're twenty-six years old. Both of you should have been married years ago."

"Ugh! Maman, please don't start this again."

"I just want my boys to be married to nice women, and give me some lovely grandchildren. Your father would have wanted that too. Oh, Aubin! Look at your sons now! I tried! I tried! "

Maurice, who had just finished putting the flowers into an old cracked vase, sighed and sat down in defeat.

"Remember when Madame Jeunet brought her nice daughters over? You," she pointed to Maurice, "ruined it by going on about some kind of crazy "automatic washing device." "

"Sorry, Maman." Maurice sank dejectedly into his seat. His mother had never been very supportive of his hobby.

"And you," Isabelle turned to her other son, "were more interested in one of the girls' dogs than her."

"She was a dog herself," muttered Michel.

"What was that?" Isabelle asked sharply.

"Nothing, Maman." Maurice and Michel looked at each other uncomfortably. It was best not to get into a fight when she was so ill and days away from probable death.

"Maman," Michel said, "it's getting late. We should go to bed. Bonne nuit!"

"Good night, Maman. I-I love you." Maurice smiled at his mother and followed his brother out of her room.

The next morning, as the dark made way for light, Isabelle Desrosiers once again heard her husband's cheerful laugh.

* * *

_July 2nd, 1734_

Night began to fall over the peaceful village of Villemont, a poor little town in Nivernais, France. But one man did not take the night's signal to return to his house to devour the evening meal and spend time with his loved ones. Maurice Desrosiers wandered his dark little village alone. Maurice often walked through the village at night. He found it fascinating how much different it was without the gossiping old biddies and bustling shopkeepers around. In fact, it was one of the only things Maurice enjoyed doing in his village. On the rare occasions when Maurice would go into town on a market day, he found it to be a rather insufferable experience. The chattering busybodies and the bargaining customers gave him the most dreadful headaches! He had never gotten on with the denizens of the town either. The rest of the town just didn't understand why he spent most of his time inside, dreaming up various new inventions, and he didn't understand how they could all be so happy to live such a mundane lifestyle.

Maurice had often contemplated leaving his little town, perhaps to seek an adventure, or just a more interesting life. But his mother kept him in the village. He and his mother had never been close, to say the least. But he had stayed out of a sense of duty to her. She was sick, and needed both him and his brother to look after her.

Rounding the corner, Maurice noticed lights in the distance. As he got closer, he saw that the bookshop's windows were still lit. It struck him as being rather odd. Surely Monsieur Devin would have gone home by now? Overcome by curiosity, and needing someone to talk to, Maurice knocked on the door. Monsieur Devin opened the door and peered out at him.

"Maurice!" he said in surprised. "What are you doing here? Come in."

Maurice stepped into the bookshop. It was just as dusty and mysterious as it had been eleven years previously when he had first entered it to buy a Christmas present for his mother. Looking around, Maurice was surprised to see a woman standing by the shelves, looking curiously at one of the books. He didn't expect someone, other than Monsieur Devin, to be in the bookshop so late at night. The woman herself was peculiar sight. Her long golden hair cascaded down to her feet and shone as if she were outside in the sunlight.

"This is my wife," Monsieur Devin said, coming up behind him.

Madame Devin put the book she had been inspecting down, turned around, and smiled at him, her teeth shining. Maurice was surprised. The bookseller's wife appeared to the same age as himself, even though Monsieur Devin had to be in his sixties at least.

"Good evening, Maurice," she said pleasantly. "You're out rather late aren't you?"

"Good evening, Madame." Maurice bowed. "I didn't know you had a wife," Maurice said to the bookseller, unable to take his eyes off her.

"Ariana's been away a lot recently. She's had a lot of business to attend to." Both husband and wife laughed, but Maurice couldn't understand what was so funny.

Monsieur Devin gestured to a few chairs at the back of the room. All three of them sat.

"How is your mother, Maurice?" the bookseller asked.

"Uh, well, she died a few weeks ago, remember?" Maurice awkwardly reminded him.

"Oh?" The bookseller looked very embarrassed. "Oh dear. I'm sorry, dear boy. I didn't hear about it. I don't get outside my shop much."

Madame Devin slapped her hand to her face. "Oh, Theseus," she groaned.

"Anyway," he said. "What are you doing in my little shop at this time of night, Maurice?"

"Oh. Uh, well." Maurice frowned. "I'm not sure. I was just going for a walk, and I saw that the lights on in your shop."

The bookseller nodded. "What do you plan to do now that your mother's gone?"

"I don't know," Maurice admitted.

"Maurice, how did your parents meet?" asked Madame Devin suddenly.

"Huh?" Maurice gave her a funny look. "Well, my mother was sitting by the river reading a book and then my father passed by riding his horse. All of a sudden, my father fell off of his horse and my mother looked up at saw him."

Madame Devin's smile was so wide and shiny, Maurice was almost blinded. "And? They stayed together didn't they?"

"Yes. Well, until Papa died."

Madame Devin smirked triumphantly at her husband.

"Why do you want to know?" Maurice asked curiously.

"Oh, no reason. No reason at all."

"Do you remember that book I gave you when you first came here, Maurice?"

"Yes, I do. I loved it. Marcel Charron has had some amazing creations. After my father died, it was the only thing that motivated me!"

"Well," the bookseller smiled. "That's what you should do then!"

"Read the book again," Maurice asked, confused.

"No! Go find the book's author! Marcel Charron. He lives in Paris."

"Oh, okay. Why?"

"You can be his apprentice. You have mentioned that you wanted to leave this little town to me before, haven't you?"

"Yes, but-"

"An excellent idea, dear!" Madame Devin smiled at her husband.

"I guess I could do that," Maurice said, doubt etched across his face.

"You should!" the bookseller's wife insisted. "Besides, if it doesn't work out, you could always just come back home."

That did it! He would go to Paris to seek out Marcel Charron. Maurice stood up determinedly. "Thank you, Monsieur Devin. And Madame Devin. This was just what I needed."

Maurice quickly ran back home. He informed his brother that he would be leaving for Paris the next day. Michel didn't mind. He already had plans to turn the property into a regular old farm with a friend of his from the village. Though he and his brother were nothing alike, they had always been close, so it was difficult to part ways. Maurice packed his meagre belongings and went to bed. The next morning, before the sun had even risen, Maurice said goodbye to his brother and set out on his journey.

Maurice eagerly walked out of the village borders and through the long, dark forest, cheerfully thinking about what lay ahead of him. Just as he started to daydream about winning first prize in an invention fair, he stopped dead in realization. He had no idea where Paris was. Maurice looked around the forest, desperately trying to find something that would give him a clue as to which direction Paris was in. It was no use. All he could see were trees and a long muddy path.

He was about to give up and head back when he heard something in the distance. He looked behind him to see a fabulous, expensive looking carriage pulled by six white horses. Maurice quickly stepped onto the side of the path to let it through. As it passed, it drove over a big puddle of mud, splashing Maurice. The carriage stopped and an old man dressed in finery stepped out.

"Oh dear," he said, looking at Maurice's mud-soaked clothes. "I am sorry about that. Are you okay, boy?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you sure? You look confused. Are you lost?"

"Yes," Maurice admitted. "Yes, I am. Do you know where Paris is?"

"Paris?"

"Yes. I'm walking there now."

The man laughed.

"You can't get to Paris on foot, boy. It would take weeks."

"Oh," Maurice's heart sank.

"Are you from around here?"

"Oh yes sir. I'm from a village just over there." Maurice pointed.

"Oh? I would hate for one of my people to die lost in a forest. There are wolves around here. We are going to Paris ourselves. Would you like to come with us?"

"Oh, really? Yes, thank you!

Maurice climbed into the carriage. It was just as fancy as it was on the outside. It made him feel very out of place in his muddy rags. A honey blonde boy, who seemed to be around nineteen, sat in the corner, staring out of the window. He looked very bored.

"Thank you for this," Maurice said again.

"Oh, you're welcome. It is always a pleasure to help out one of my people."

"One of your people?"

"Oh," the man laughed. "I haven't introduced myself yet. I am Prince Nicolas Jean Mael of Nivernais."

A prince? Of course! Maurice had remembered seeing this same carriage pass through his village several times. He had never met royalty before. Was he supposed to bow? Maurice didn't think he could do that in a moving carriage. He hoped Prince Nicolas wouldn't execute him for it.

"And this is my son, Renaud," Prince Nicolas said, gesturing to the boy by the window.

"Good morning, Your Highness."

Renaud looked at Maurice, and greeted him in a very bored voice. Then he turned back to the window.

Prince Nicolas laughed. "You'll have to forgive my son. He's in a bad mood because we're going to a ball in Paris to find him a bride and he's still infatuated with a servant girl. Why are you going all the way to Paris?"

Maurice told him about Marcel Charron.

"You want to invent?" he asked.

"Yes, Your Highness."

"How wonderful! You could be just like Leonardo Da Vinci. Are you married?"

"No."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-six."

"Twenty six and not married? A nice boy like you?" Prince Nicolas was beginning to sound a lot like Maurice's mother.

For the rest of the ride, Prince Nicolas asked Maurice questions about his family and his village. Prince Renaud spent the whole journey staring moodily out of the window. Before long they arrived in Paris.

"Excuse me, Your Highness," Maurice said. "Can you let me off here?"

"James," Prince Nicolas said. "Tell the driver to stop."

Maurice hopped out of the carriage.

"Good luck, dear boy! Perhaps our grandchildren will meet one day!"

"Thank you, Your Highness."

Maurice watched the carriage disappear around the corner. He started to look around the crowded streets of Paris. He probably should have planned ahead. He had no idea where Marcel Charron lived.

"Excuse me, Madame," he said to a woman passing by. "Do you know where Marcel Charron lives?"

The woman stared at him.

"Who?" she asked.

Maurice asked several other people, but no one knew who he was talking about. He shivered. It was beginning to get very dark and cold. He was ready to give up when a man approached him.

"Are you alright?" he asked in a peculiar accent.

"No, I'm not," admitted Maurice. "Do you know where Marcel Charron lives?"

"Of course! I'm going there right now. Follow me!"

Maurice, surprised by his sudden good luck, eagerly followed the man through the streets of Paris. Eventually they reached a small rundown old house. Marcel Charron couldn't possibly live here, could he?

The man knocked on the door. A young woman with brown hair and a voluptuous figure opened the door and enveloped the man into a long drawn out kiss. Maurice stood there watching awkwardly.

Finally pulling away from the kiss, the man pointed to Maurice and said "This fellow wants to see your father."

"Oh," she looked over at Maurice. "He's in the cellar. Father, there's someone here to see you!" The woman resumed kissing him. A few awkward moments later, a chuckle came from behind them

"Calm down you two! You aren't even married yet. Now who wanted to see me?"

The woman pointed to Maurice.

"And you are?"

"Maurice Desrosiers, sir. I read your book."

"My what?"

"Your book." Maurice produced the book from the satchel he had brought with him.

Marcel took the book and inspected it.

"Ah, yes. Where did you say you were from?"

"I-I didn't. I'm from a little town in Nivernais."

"Really? How did my book get all the way out there? I barely remember publishing it. Why did you come?"

"Well, sir. I was hoping you'd take me on as an apprentice of some kind."

"An apprentice?" Marcel Charron repeated.

"Er... Yes."

"Hmm… I don't know."

"Of course you can!" said his daughter.

"Celine, please."

"Father, it will be good for you. Besides, you need someone to keep you company after I'm gone."

Marcel sighed. "Very well. I can't argue with my daughter. She's always right. Come in."

Maurice followed him inside.

"I hope you don't mind sleeping on the chaise in the living room," Marcel Charron said. "Celine is getting married in a few weeks. You can have her room then."

"Oh, that's fine. Thank you."

Maurice placed his satchel down on the chaise. There was a portrait of a woman on the wall above it. Her hazel eyes peered at him mysteriously. Her long golden hair was piled on top of her head.

"Who is that?" Maurice asked.

"That's my little sister, Jeanne." Marcel smiled at the painting.

"She's beautiful," Maurice breathed.

"Wasn't she? She was a ballet dancer. There has been a lot of dancers in our family. Our grandfather danced for Louis XIV."

"What happened to her?"

"The ballet company she was with travelled to Florence. A wealthy nobleman saw her dance one night, fell madly in love with her and married her."

"And then what happened?" Maurice couldn't look away from her eyes.

"She died a few years ago. I hadn't seen her since I travelled to Florence to her a few years before that. I miss her every day."

* * *

Every night, Jeanne would appear in Maurice's dreams. He assumed that it would stop after he stopped sleeping on the chaise. But even after Celine had gotten married to Walter, who was English and a talented apprentice to a Parisian goldsmith, and had moved into her old bedroom, Maurice was still haunted by her. Eventually, after over a year after he had arrived in Paris, Maurice finally thought he was rid of Jeanne forever. That was until she turned up on their doorstep.

"Ciao!" the ghost said cheerfully. "Is my uncle here?"

"Your... Uncle?" Maurice repeated, transfixed by her.

"Yes, my un- Uncle Marcel!" she gracefully pushed past Maurice, her long blonde hair swishing as she went by.

"Jeanne," Marcel whispered. "No, wait! Sofia? You look just like your mother."

She giggled. "Uh-huh! And Cousin Celine!" she said excitedly, noticing Celine, who was visiting, sitting on the loveseat in the living room. Sofia turned to Maurice.

"You must be Celine's husband."

"No, no. I-I-"

"Maurice is father's apprentice," said Celine. "My husband is working right now."

"Oh, that's a shame. He looks so sweet."

"Sofia," Marcel said. "What are you doing here? Is your father around?"

"Oh, heavens no! I ran away from home."

"Ran away? Why?" Celine asked, alarmed.

"Papa wanted me to get married to some friend of his," Sofia explained. "I didn't want to spend the rest of my life stuck in a loveless marriage to some boring old rich man. Besides, he and I haven't gotten along since Mama died. I wanted to go out and see the world."

"But how did you get here?"

"I joined my mother's old ballet company. She started teaching me to dance before I could walk. We're traveling all around Europe to perform our- Oh no!" Sofia stood up, a horrified expression on her face. "I forgot! I have to rehearse. I'll come back later!"

"Would you like to have dinner with us tonight?" Celine asked. "You can meet my husband."

"Oh, of course! I'll be back tonight. Good bye!"

Maurice couldn't get Sofia out of his mind. She haunted him all day. Her giggled followed him everywhere. Every time he closed his own eyes, he saw hers.

At six o'clock, there was a knock at the door. Marcel opened it, and Sofia gracefully skipped in.

"Ciao! Uncle Marcel, Maurice, this is my fiancé, Aristide."

Maurice's heart sank as a tall, dark-haired, muscular man entered the room. You're an idiot, he told himself. Don't be disappointed. She would never have liked you anyway.

"Aristide runs our ballet company," Sofia explained.

"Sofia is so beautiful," Aristide said, gazing at her. "When she dances, she looks like a bird taking flight."

The four of them walked to Celine and Walter's significantly larger house together. Sofia and Aristide walked hand-in-hand. Maurice was glad that it was dark so that they couldn't see his jealous glare.

Celine greeted them at the door. She was surprised to see Aristide with them.

"You could have told me you were bringing someone, Sofia," she said. "I don't know if we'll have enough food."

"You'll have to excuse Sofia. She can be so inconsiderate sometimes."

Sofia hid her face and Maurice glared at him.

Celine introduced Sofia to her husband Walter, and the six of them sat down to dinner.

When the soup was served, Sofia picked up her spoon, eyed the liquid concoction warily, and tasted it. She immediately coughed it back out.

"What's wrong, Sofia?" Celine asked.

"I hate peas," she said bluntly.

"Oh, Sofia. Just eat it," moaned Aristide.

"No. I hate it."

"Sofia, shut up and eat it. I told you not to be so tactless and inconsiderate."

"No!"

"Eat it!" Aristide practically forced the spoon into her mouth. Sofia coughed and spluttered.

"Sofia, you need to realize that there are people in the world who aren't you. You shouldn't be so blunt all the time," Aristide said. Sofia glared at him.

"I-I don't think there's anything wrong with that," Maurice said. Everyone looked at him. "At least you know that someone is being truthful."

Sofia smiled at him. "You are so sweet."

Maurice blushed and averted his eyes away from Aristide's deadly glare.

The rest of the dinner went smoothly, until the subject of Sofia's father came up.

"Sofia, when are you going back to see your father again?" asked Marcel.

"Never," she said darkly.

"Yes, you are," said Aristide.

"No. I'm not," she said, standing up and facing him.

"Dear, we need that money."

"Dear, I think we can get on perfectly well without my father's money."

Aristide stood up and towered over her.

"You think a lot, Sofia. But you are rarely right."

"What did you say?" she hissed darkly.

"Oh, Sofia. You are so pretty. I wish you stop making things so difficult."

Everyone else at the table watched the scene unfold, wondering if they should interfere.

"Don't call me stupid! I'm smart enough to realize you're only marrying me for my father's wealth and status."

Aristide looked rather taken aback at this comment.

"I don't want to marry someone who only wants me for my father's money," she continued. "So I won't! I'm ending this engagement!"

"In that case, I'm kicking you out of my ballet company," Aristide said, as he strolled to the door. "Good luck with that running away from everything plan." He slammed the door shut.

Sofia sat back down and began to sob.

Over the next few weeks, Sofia became more and more depressed. The more depressed she became, the more introverted and quiet she got. Maurice had chivalrously given up his bedroom for her and returned to the chaise. Sofia now took up the spot Jeanne had filled in his dreams.

One afternoon, Maurice emerged from the cellar, having finished his latest invention, to find Sofia slumped over on the kitchen table.

"Good afternoon, Sofia," Maurice said, trying to cheer her up.

Sofia grunted.

"Would you like to my latest invention?" he asked.

"No." It was the first word Maurice had heard out of her in a week.

"Please?"

"Alright," she said, standing up reluctantly.

Maurice eagerly took her hand and led her down the stairs. He took her over to a bench. On it was a metal box filled with water.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It is an automatic plate washer. It washes plates," he explained.

"Does it wash anything else?"

"No, just plates. Allow me to demonstrate." He place a plate inside of the device, closed the lid, and turned a small knob. Strange noises started to come from inside.

"Is it supposed to make those noises?" Sofia asked.

"Of course! That just means the machine is working."

The noises stopped and Maurice opened the lid and peered inside.

"Uh, of course, there's not going to be a one hundred percent success rate when it's still a prototype," Maurice said as he retrieved a piece of the broken plate from inside the device.

Sofia giggled. "I guess not."

Maurice and Sofia smiled at each for a moment, and then looked away.

"The sky looks so pretty today," Sofia said, looking out the cellar's small window. "I can't see any clouds. I can't believe I've been in Paris for almost a month and I haven't even gone for a walk yet."

"Would you like to go now? I'll go with you," Maurice said quickly.

"Yes, yes!" she shouted, bouncing up and down, grabbing his hand and leading him up the stairs and out of the house.

Together they walked through Paris. The sky was a clear blue. The end of summer was near, and the leaves on the trees were beginning to turn orange.

"The sun shines so bright today," Sofia said, looking up at the sky.

"Your hair reminds me of the sun," Maurice said before he could stop himself.

"What?"

"Your hair is so yellow. When the sun shines on it- it looks like it is also the sun!" Maurice garbled out the words so fast he had no idea what he was saying. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I just said."

Sofia giggled and smiled at him. "I know what you meant. You're so sweet."

As they walked through the streets Paris, Maurice compared her lips to cherries, her eyes to acorns, her hair's length to a veil, and her skin to milk in his own awkward way. Sofia compared him to a puppy dog she had owned as a child. Maurice chose to take it as a compliment.

They enjoyed themselves so much that they lost track of time and were shocked when they realized that it was night-time.

"It's getting late. I think we should go back," said Maurice, reluctantly. Then he looked into the river that they had been walking next to. "The Seine is so beautiful at night."

"It reminds me of the Arno back home. I could see it from my bedroom window. Can we sit here for a moment?"

They sat down and stared the river for a few moments.

"The Seine reminds me of you. It's also very beautiful," Maurice said, expecting to hear a giggle and an affirmation that he was sweet.

"That's very kind of you, Maurice. But true beauty is in creation."

Maurice stared at her.

"The only time I feel truly beautiful is when I am dancing," she explained. "When I am dancing, I feel like I am creating something wonderful. Something truly amazing. Even when no one is watching me, I feel special. I feel like I am contributing something to the rest of the world. When I am standing still, I am merely pretty. But when I am dancing, I am beautiful."

"Uh…"

"Do you feel like that when you invent something?" Sofia asked.

"Uh. Yes. Of course! When I invent something I think that it is beautiful. And that it is making the world a better place. And, uh…"

"I know," she smiled. "I know."

"I think we should go back now," Maurice said, standing up.

Sofia also stood up and smiled at him. "Thank you for cheering me up."

And then she kissed him.

* * *

For the next month, Maurice and Sofia would go for long walks at night together. Then they would sit by the Seine and talk until the late hours. Maurice would compare Sofia to various things. She would giggle and tell him that he was sweet. She would philosophise about things, such as life and death. He would tell her about his little village. She would say that she would like to go there one day. She would tell her about Italy and Florence. He would tell her that he thinks France is enough for him. She would talk about how much she hated peas. Maurice would agree that that they were disgusting, but he did, however, like the colour of them.

They married the following October. It was a very small ceremony. Only Marcel, Celine, Walter, and a few other people they had befriended who lived nearby attended. Marcel gave them the old creaky house as a wedding present. He was going to move in with Celine, whose house was much bigger and less likely to break if someone sneezed.

On their first night alone together as a married couple, Sofia eagerly placed a bowl in front of Maurice. He prodded the gelatinous mush with his spoon.

"What is it?"

"Soup."

"Oh," Maurice reluctantly ate a spoonful.

"How is it?"

"How about I cook dinner tomorrow night?"

The next night, Sofia stabbed the huge black slab with her fork.

"What is it?"

"Well, it used to be lamb."

Sofia laughed, still working on cutting the slab up with her knife and fork. "Well I guess neither of us can cook. Just look at this ugly mess."

"But beauty is in creation."

They laughed together.

"What's this metal thing? I think you left a wrench in here."

* * *

Maurice and Sofia cuddled up next to the fireplace. Sofia kept kissing him. Maurice wished she wouldn't. That portrait of her mother was making him feel uneasy.

"Dolce," she said, putting her head on his shoulder. "Do you want children?"

"Uh." He'd never really thought about it before. "I guess so. Do you?"

"Of course," she said happily. "Seven at least!"

"S-seven?"

"Yes! Four boys and three girls. As soon as possible."

Maurice did not have the heart to tell her that he didn't think they'd be able to afford one child, let alone seven.


	4. Maize

**Chapter Four**

_May 1st, 1737_

Just like every other morning of her marriage, Sofia was awoken by a loud explosion coming from below her. Sighing, she forced herself out of bed and began to get dressed. As she carefully laced up her stays, she heard another explosion, as well as a small scream coming from the floor below. Sofia quickly threw on the first dress she could find, tied her waist-length golden hair into a messy ponytail, and rushed downstairs.

There was smoke seeping under the cellar door. Sofia quickly threw it open and started to clear away the smoke with her hands.

"Maurice!" she called. "Dolce! Where are you? Are you alright?"

"Right here, ma biche. I'm fine." Maurice coughed a bit and turned to face what remained of his latest invention. "I am never going to get this finished in time for the next inventor's fair though."

"Don't worry, dolce." Sofia smiled at her husband and kissed him on the head. "I believe in you. You can do it if you try hard enough."

Maurice smiled at her. "You're right as usual, ma biche."

"That's it!" Sofia took her husband's hand. "Let's go have some breakfast."

Maurice poured out two cups of tea as Sofia poked around their cupboard.

"It doesn't look like we have any bread left," Sofia observed.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I thought we had still had some, but it doesn't look like it. I guess we will have to go out and get some more."

"We?" asked Maurice.

"Yes, we. You and I. You've been cooped up in this house all week. You're coming with me." Sofia grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the house. Maurice whimpered and shielded his eyes from the bright sunlight. Sofia sighed exasperatedly.

"It's okay, dolce. It's only sunlight."

They made their way through streets of Paris, cheerfully greeting people they knew as they passed them.

"Are you working today?" asked Maurice.

"Not today."

To bring in more money, Sofia had begun teaching the children of wealthy parents how to dance. It was fulfilling, she supposed. And the children were sweet. But it just reminded Sofia of something. Something she did not have.

"What's wrong?" Maurice had noticed the forlorn expression on Sofia's face.

"Oh, nothing. It's just-"

"Bonjour!" They had reached the bakery.

"Good morning, Monsieur Travert," Sofia battered her eyelashes and smiled at him. "May we have some bread? Just a few baguettes would be fine. Maybe three or four?"

Monsieur Travert's face went red. "O-of course, Madame Desrosiers." Maurice glared at him. The baker went off to get their bread.

"Bonjour, Madame Desrosiers. Is this your husband?" An older woman had joined them.

"Oh, hello Madame Beaumont," Sofia greeted her. "Yes, this is my Maurice." She patted him on the head.

"You know, I don't think I've seen him before."

"Maurice prefers to work inside. Down in our cellar. He doesn't come out much," Sofia laughed.

Maurice folded his arms and glared at her.

Madame Beaumont laughed. "At least he isn't out all day with other women, like my husband."

"That's true. At least I don't have to worry about Maurice." The two women laughed together.

"How long have you two been married?" the older woman asked.

"Over a year and a half." Sofia smiled.

"And no sign of a baby yet?"

Sofia's smile faltered. "No. Not yet," she said, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.

"Oh? Don't worry, dear. I'm sure the children will come along eventually."

"Yes," Sofia chuckled awkwardly. "I guess they will."

"Sofia and I want to spend some time alone together before we have children," interjected Maurice. "Don't we, ma biche?"

"Here are your baguettes." Monsieur Travert had returned. Sofia breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Monsieur. How much?"

"Oh, for you?" he asked as he stared into her big hazel eyes. "Nothing. You can have them for free. And you can have this basket to put them in."

"Why thank you," Sofia winked at him. "Good bye, Monsieur Travert, Madame Beaumont. Come, Maurice." She quickly walked off, dragging Maurice behind her.

"Sofia, I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Do what?"

"You know. Wink, and smile, and do that thing with your eyelashes."

"But dolce, it saves us so much money! Don't be jealous. You know you're the only man I love." She patted his head again.

"I wish you wouldn't do that either."

Sofia just laughed and grabbed his hand.

"You know," she said. "My cousin Celine is expecting."

"Expecting what?"

"She is in the family way."

"She should move then."

Sofia groaned. "No, Maurice. She is going to have a baby."

"Oh? Good for her."

"You know, I'd have thought we'd have a baby by now."

Maurice patted her hand. "We've only been married for eighteen months. Give it time."

"I have given it time. I want a baby now."

"I'm sure we'll have one soon," Maurice gave her an encouraging smile. "Come on, let's go home. I'm hungry."

Sofia let her husband lead her home. She had always assumed that babies just came automatically a few months after marriage. She hadn't expected it to take this long.

* * *

Josette screamed and dropped her mop as she felt someone sneak up behind her and grab her waist. She immediately turned around and slapped the culprit.

"Ouch!" Renaud rubbed his cheek. "What did you do that for?"

"You shouldn't have grabbed me from behind." Josette picked the mop back up. "Leave me alone. I have work to do."

"Come on." Renaud started to suck on her neck. "You can take a break."

"Seriously, Renaud. I have a lot of-"

Renaud interrupted her with a kiss. Josette gave in and wrapped her arms around his neck. Renaud felt her ample bosom up against his chest.

"Your highness?"

Renaud let go of Josette and turned to see James Potts, his father's Head of Household.

"What do you want?"

"It's your father, sire. He wants to a private talk with you."

"My father? Ugh." Renaud turned back to Josette. "I'll be back in a minute."

* * *

"Pere! You wanted to see me?"

"Ah, Renaud. Sit down," Prince Nicolas gestured to the seat on the other side of his desk. Renaud sat. He knew what his father was going to talk about. It was the same thing they discussed every time they had a "private talk" together.

"Renaud, you need to get married."

And so it had begun.

"I know, Pere," Renaud sighed. "I know."

"It has to be soon," said Nicolas. "I am getting old. I won't be around for much longer."

"Ugh. Pere, I'm too young to get married," Renaud groaned.

"You will be twenty-two in three days. Many of your younger cousins already have children. It is time you stopped cavorting around and provide an heir."

"No," Renaud mumbled as he slumped into his chair.

"I have taken you to dozens of balls, introduced you to hundreds of eligible high-born young ladies, and yet you haven't liked a single one."

"That's because I already know who I want to marry."

Nicolas narrowed his eyes. "You don't mean that servant girl do you?"

"Josette isn't just a servant girl, Pere, She is my closest friend. I love her."

"That may be. But she is still a filthy servant."

"I don't care about who her parents are!"

"Well, I and our long line of ancestors do. I will not have filth in our bloodline. Which is why I have arranged a wife for you."

Renaud's jaw fell open. "You did what?"

"I am sure you will like her," said Nicolas. "She is a princess from a country a long way from here. I have been told she is a nice, well-brought up, docile young lady with excellent manners."

"I don't care! I won't marry her!"

"You have to! You have a duty to your people."

"Why would you care about them?" Renaud snarled furiously. "They're just filthy peasants!"

Renaud stood up so fast that he knocked over his chair, and stormed from the room.

* * *

In a faraway kingdom, Princess Aurelia, the youngest child and only daughter of King Christian and Queen Helena, entered her family's immense library. She sat rigidly in a high backed chair near the fireplace, her legs curled in lady-like fashion. Engrossed in her latest find, she didn't notice that her maid was in the room until she looked up to check the time on the old grandfather clock.

"Oh, Dorcas!" Aurelia smiled at the grey-haired woman pleasantly. "I am sorry. I didn't see you there."

"Your parents want to see you, miss," Dorcas replied as she curtseyed to the young Princess.

"Oh?" Aurelia closed her book and set it aside on a nearby table. "I wonder what they want."

"They're in the fourth floor sitting room."

Aurelia made her way through the castle towards her destination. She knocked on the enormous wooden door, which was decorated with carvings of roses and other flowers that grew in her kingdom. Her eldest brother Joachim opened the door.

"Come in," he said gruffly.

Aurelia entered the room. Her father, a tall, ruggedly handsome man with greying brown hair, was sitting in an impressive red velvet chair. Her mother was sitting next to him in a similar chair. She was a tall, blonde beauty with a peculiarly shaped nose that Aurelia had always thought looked a lot like the noses of the witches in her storybooks. Joachim joined her other two brothers, Abraham and Anselm who were sitting nearby. Aurelia curtseyed to her father and then to her mother.

"Good evening, Aurelia," King Christian said in his deep, booming voice.

"Good evening, Father."

"You may sit now."

"Thank you, Father." Aurelia sat opposite her parents.

"Aurelia," her mother began. "Aurelia, you are sixteen years old now. This means that you are now a young woman. Every young woman, especially those of high birth such as yourself, must eventually get married and leave her family behind."

"I am going to get married?" asked Aurelia. She looked over at her brothers. Abraham and Joachim stared back at her. Anselm smiled at her. She had always been closest to him.

"Choosing a husband can be a harrowing experience for a young lady like you," Queen Helena continued. "Especially one as physically appealing as you are. You would "

"So you will be pleased to know that your parents have chosen a husband for you," said her father. "He is the prince of a small province in France."

"So I-I'm going to have to leave my home?"

"Yes," confirmed the King. "The wedding is next month. We will take you there and stay for the wedding, but then we must return back home."

"Your father and I met for the first time on our wedding day and we have been happily married for thirty-two years."

"Oh," Aurelia paused. She had always known that she would have to leave her family one day. She hadn't expected it to happen so soon though. "Thank you for choosing a husband for me, Father, Mother."

"So you have no objections?"

"No, Mother."

"Good. You may leave now, Aurelia. It is time for you to go to bed. You will need to look as beautiful as possible for your wedding next month. Good night."

"Yes, Mother. Good night."

"Good night, Aurelia."

"Good night, Father."

Aurelia shut the door behind her and began the long walk to her room. She didn't know what awaited her in her new life, but she hoped she would like it. And she hoped that her husband would like her too.


	5. Electric Crimson

**Chapter Five**

_June 3__rd__, 1737_

As Aurelia took one last look outside her bedroom window, she felt a wave of confidence come over her. Yes, she was leaving behind everything she had ever cared about. And yes, she was about to move far away from her home to marry a man she had never even met before. Yet she was excited to be starting a new life. The thought of being able to explore a whole new castle thrilled her. She had never been close with her parents. In fact, the only family member she had ever had a close relationship with was her brother Anselm. He was the second youngest at twenty years old, and was the one who would play with her, and read books with her when she was younger. Her two oldest brothers, Joachim and Abraham, had always been distant. Joachim, who was to be King someday, was rigid about following rules and regarded his younger sister as a nuisance. Abraham, who was the King and Queen's favourite child, was spoiled and selfish and on the rare occasions where he did notice Aurelia, could be callous and cruel.

Although she had never met her betrothed, she often fantasised about him. Aurelia imagined him to a tall, handsome Adonis with broad shoulders and strong hands. A dashing hero who rescued young damsels from dragons, just like the romantic princes in the books she had read when she was younger. Someone who would love her and would make her feel loved, like her parents never had. That wasn't to say that she believed that her parents did not love her. That was preposterous. They must love her, even if they did not show it. She was their daughter, after all. And parents had to love their children, didn't they?

Tearing herself away from the window, she went to her wardrobe, walking with a gleeful skip in her step. After choosing one of her favourite pink dresses, Aurelia sat down at her dressing table and began to brush her long brown hair, as she mused inwardly about her future. Dorcas came bustling in several minutes later.

"Good morning, Princess Aurelia," the servant greeted her kindly.

"Good morning, Dorcas!" Aurelia turned and grinned at her. Dorcas took Aurelia's hairbrush from her delicate grip and began to brush her long brown locks for her.

"You look happy, miss," the older woman observed. "Are you looking forward to meeting your new husband?"

"Yes, I am," confirmed Aurelia. "I cannot wait to meet him."

"I am going to miss you, princess," Dorcas said in her usual high-pitched motherly tone. "I remember when you were just a small infant."

"I am going to miss you too, Dorcas." Aurelia allowed herself to hug the older woman. She rarely touched any other being, let alone hugged them. It just wasn't a proper thing for a princess to do, that was what her mother had told her anyway.

Dorcas laced up Aurelia's stays, and then helped her put the dress she had chosen on. She tied the princess's hair into a neat bun. Aurelia gazed at herself in the mirror.

"You look beautiful, princess," Dorcas squeaked as she tucked one of Aurelia's loose hairs into the bun. Aurelia smiled.

"Aurelia!" Aurelia turned to see her mother glide into the room. Queen Helena glared icily at her daughter. "Vanity does not befit a princess."

"Sorry, Mother." Aurelia looked down, feeling ashamed of herself.

"It is time to go, Aurelia," said the Queen. "Say good bye to your maid."

"Good bye, Dorcas." The princess smiled at her maid.

"Aren't you going to take any of your dresses? Or your books?" asked Dorcas tentatively.

"Aurelia will have clothing made for her at her new home," said the Queen before Aurelia could answer herself. "We will only be taking her wedding gown with us. Come, Aurelia."

Aurelia smiled at Dorcas and took one last look around her bedroom before she followed her mother out. Her father and brothers were waiting in the entrance hall. She curtseyed to them.

"Are you ready, Aurelia?" asked King Christian, staring down at her.

"Yes, Father." Aurelia turned to her oldest brother. "Good bye, Joachim."

"Farewell, Aurelia. Do not embarrass your kingdom at any formal events," replied Joachim. Aurelia glanced over at Abraham who was looking very bored.

"Good bye, Abraham." He only grunted at her. Aurelia moved onto Anselm who was standing timidly against the wall.

"I will miss you, Aurelia." He smiled at her. "Perhaps I will visit you one day if your husband allows it."

Aurelia smiled back at him. "Please do."

Aurelia followed her parents outside, where a magnificent carriage was waiting to take her to her new home. Her parents entered the carriage. Aurelia looked back at her palace one last time, and then boarded it herself. The carriage started to move. She waved to her brothers and the servants from the window. Several of the maids waved back.

The carriage made its way through their little kingdom. Peasants watched as the carriage carrying the Royal Family went past. Several of the children waved. Aurelia waved back. Her father admonished her.

"Aurelia, do not wave to the peasants. We must distance ourselves from them if we want to keep their respect."

Aurelia had never understood this rule. Surely their people would respect them more if the Royal Family had a more approachable image.

"I apologise, Father," she muttered.

The carriage drove on, and soon the little houses and buildings of their kingdom turned into wide-open fields, and then the fields turned into deep, thick forests. As day turned into night, they arrived at a chateau. The next morning they set off on their journey again. Three more days passed before Aurelia looked out of the window to see an enormous, towering castle in the distance. Her heart started to pound as the carriage drove in through the intimidating metal gates. The carriage stopped. The door was opened by one of the castle's servants. The servant helped Queen Helena out. King Christian followed his wife.

Aurelia climbed out of the carriage and looked around. The castle was enormous. It was a lot bigger than the palace back in her kingdom. The entire castle seemed to be perched upon what appeared to be a large mountain-like rock, with only a long narrow bridge connecting it to the adjacent forest, which struck Aurelia as being rather peculiar. The location of the castle also seemed quite odd to Aurelia. It was out in the middle of a forest, with seemingly nothing else around. She had only remembered going through several small villages to get there, no large towns or cities. Who did her husband and his family rule over? Her family ruled over an entire kingdom, yet if put side to side their palace would be dwarfed by this one.

The doors of the castle opened, and an older gentleman dressed in fine clothing stepped out to greet them.

"Ah," he said, grasping the hand of the King. "You must be King Christian and Queen Helena. And, of course, your beautiful daughter, Aurelia. I am Prince Nicolas."

Aurelia moved forward and curtseyed to the prince. "Good morning, Your Highness."

Prince Nicolas looked delighted. "What nice manners. You will be a perfect wife for Renaud." He turned to the servant. "James, please tell Renaud to come to the drawing room."

The servant disappeared into the castle. Prince Nicolas addressed Aurelia and her parents. "Your Majesties, please follow me."

Aurelia's heart pounded even harder as she followed him into the enormous entrance hall.

* * *

Josette, having just experienced the human body's utmost pleasure, gave Renaud a long passionate post-coital kiss. She settled her head, still drowsy from lovemaking, on his bare chest. His muscular arms wrapped around Josette's warm, curvy body, feeling her smooth porcelain skin with his large hands.

"I never want to leave this bed," Renaud whispered as Josette's dark hair tickled his chin. "It is so blissful here."

"If only we could stay here forever," agreed Josette. "We would never have to face the realities of the outside world. Our own world would not exist beyond this bed. We would need to please no one but each other."

"It's not too late, you know," said Renaud dreamily. "We could run away now. Find an inconsequential little town and live like simple village folk."

"Oh, Renaud," Josette sighed. "What would we do for money? And you can't just abandon your duty to your people and your family like that. You have to forget about me and marry your little princess, and I will watch quietly in the background as you and your royal little wife raise your royal little offspring into perfect little princes and princesses." Josette turned over and burrowed her face into his chest, taking in his scent.

"I suppose you are right, Josie," Renaud conceded. "But just because I will be married does not mean that I will forget about you. We will have the same relationship that we have always had. I will just be married now."

"You are really willing to be unfaithful to your wife?" asked Josette incredulously. "You aren't even married yet."

"Just because she will be my wife does not mean that I will be unfaithful to her. To be unfaithful to someone, you have to be in love with them," reasoned Renaud. "I am being forced to marry her to protect my family's honour and to provide an heir. I do not love her. I love you. And if I could marry you I would."

"And if you were married to me you would not engage in a frivolous affair with some thin kitchen maid or red haired village girl?" Josette was not entirely sure she understood Renaud's logic.

"Of course not. Why would I betray the trust of someone I love? I love you, not this hypothetical red haired village girl. Besides," Renaud let out a noise of disgusted. "Red hair? Ugh. No thank you. I prefer my women to be brunettes with soulful brown eyes and big-."

"Your women?" Josette interrupted, sitting up and giving him a harsh look. "Renaud, I do not belong to you."

"Calm down, Josie. You take things too literally sometimes," he groaned. "And, you know, technically I do own you."

Josette narrowed her eyes. "What?" she asked sharply.

"Well, not me. My family does."

"I work for your family. You do not own me," hissed Josette, grabbing a pillow and giving Renaud a swift hit with every word that she said.

"Josie, please. I was just joking," Renaud yelled as he tried to shield himself from Josette's feather-filled weapon.

"It wasn't funny!"

"Look Josie." Renaud clasped her hand and looked into her eyes. "Josie, I'm sorry. You are my equal in every way. In fact, in many ways you are my superior. My father is a fool for thinking what he does. In a just world you would be the beautiful princess and I would be a lowly chimneysweep who would do anything to spend one second in your presence. "

Josette tried to stay angry at Renaud, but it was impossible when he said things like that. She grinned and leaned in to kiss her lover. Renaud began to caress Josette's smooth body again. Laying Josette down on her back, Renaud kissed her neck, and started making his way down her voluptuous body, covering every inch of her pale white skin with kisses. It almost seemed as though the pair were about to engage in their second act of coitus that morning when, just as Renaud had reached her bosom, they were very rudely interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Prince Renaud!" said James's urgent voice. "Your father wants to see you in the drawing room now."

"Can it wait?" Renaud called as he fondled one of Josette's bare milky white breasts.

"No, no. Your father said that you must come down now. Your bride is here."

Renaud groaned. "Alright. I'll be there soon." He got out of bed and started looking around through his wardrobe for suitable clothing to wear. Josette lay in bed, the covers pulled up to her stomach, leaving her breasts exposed, watching him.

"Do you think you'll like her?" asked Josette, absent-mindedly running a hand through her hair.

"Hopefully. It would not be pleasant to be married to someone I dislike. Though I could never love anyone else as much I love you."

"I wonder if she's pretty," Josette mused.

"Father says she is, but she could never be as pretty as you are," Renaud grunted as he pulled on a sock. Josette giggled.

After he finally finished dressing, Renaud pulled his long hair back into a ponytail, and checked his appearance in the mirror.

"You look very pretty, dear," Josette laughed and sat back up to admire him. "I am sure your little wife will think so too."

Renaud ignored Josette's teasing remark and instead turned to her, suddenly serious and asked her "Are you sure that you are okay with this?"

"With what?" Josette asked.

"You know. With me marrying this princess."

"O-of course! Well, no," she sighed. "Not really."

"Don't worry." Renaud sat down next to her and put an arm around her. "This marriage means nothing. No matter what this princess is like, you will always be the love of my life."

He drew her in for one last quick kiss, smiled at her, and hastily left the room. Josette sighed and started searching around for her clothing, which had been thrown around the room in a fit of passion, and without much thought, late the previous night. It was true. She wasn't happy about Renaud marrying another woman. But she knew that it had to be done, and she didn't have the power to stop it. And, strangely enough, she accepted it.

* * *

Renaud strolled into the drawing room to find his father sitting with a finely dressed couple who stared haughtily at him. Prince Nicolas stood up to greet his son.

"Ah, here he is." Nicolas put a hand on his son's back and gestured to the newly arrived royals. "Renaud, this is King Christian and Queen Helena." Renaud bowed respectfully to them.

"And this is their daughter, Princess Aurelia."

Renaud turned to see a girl he had not noticed when he had first entered the room. She was beautiful, he had to admit it. She had a different kind of beauty than Josette though. Aurelia was thin and dainty and girlish, whereas Josette was voluptuous and breathed womanly charm. And though they both had brown hair, the princess was a light chestnut while Josette's locks were a deep ebony.

Renaud took Aurelia's hand and kissed it. "It is a pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle." He grinned at her. Aurelia blushed slightly and looked down.

"Perhaps you could take Aurelia on a tour of the castle," Nicolas suggested to his son. "She will be living here after all. Show her the ballroom, the dining rooms, the library."

"I guess I could do that." Renaud looked at Aurelia who was still staring at the floor, looking very uncomfortable. "Would you like to look around the castle?" he asked, trying to be as friendly as possible. Aurelia looked up, a smile growing on her pretty features, and nodded.

"Aurelia, answer him like a Princess," her mother insisted harshly. Aurelia winced.

"Thank you, sir. I would like that." She stood up and followed Renaud out of the room. Renaud closed the door carefully.

"You don't have to call me sir, Aurelia." He smiled at her. "We are going to be married. You may call me Renaud."

"Oh." Aurelia exhaled slowly. "Thank you… Renaud."

They walked through the long stone corridor quietly. The castle was very intimidating. Aurelia was sure that she would never get used to living there.

"Did you… err… Did you get here alright?" Renaud asked, trying to relieve the tension.

"Yes, thank you." Aurelia was still looking curiously around at her new surroundings.

"Oh… Good."

They had reached a pair of very large wooden doors. Renaud pushed them open and lead Aurelia inside. The room was huge. Enormous windows filled it with sunlight. It looked like a library. The entire room was filled was bookshelves. However, only a few of the shelves seemed to have books in them.

"This is the library," Renaud announced. "I apologize about all the dust. We rarely come in here, so it does not get cleaned much."

"Where are all the books?" Aurelia asked, looking around confusedly.

"My grandfather had it built. He loved to read, and he wanted to buy more books, but he didn't have a place to store them," Renaud explained. "Unfortunately he died before it was completed so he didn't have a chance to collect more. And the rest of my family doesn't read much so this place has been left pretty much as it is."

"My old library had a lot of books," Aurelia said. "Millions, probably."

"You like to read?" Renaud asked. "Maybe you could stock the library with books for us. That's just a suggestion though. Come, I'll show you the ballroom."

Aurelia took one last backwards look at the library and followed Renaud out.

* * *

The next morning, Aurelia was awoken from a peaceful slumber by a small knock at the door of her new bedchamber. Yawning, she pulled back her blankets and got out of bed. Pulling on a robe to hide her thin white chemise, she pulled open the door to find a pretty dark-haired woman dressed in a maid's outfit.

"Good morning, Princess." The woman curtseyed low enough for Aurelia to get a full view of her enormous bosom. "My name is Josette. I am your new maid. I need to get you ready for your wedding."

Aurelia stepped aside and allowed Josette to glide past her.

"Where's your wedding dress?" Josette asked.

"It's in the wardrobe." Aurelia pointed to the white armoire at the back of the room.

The dress was just one of Aurelia's old ball gowns. The wedding had been organised so quickly that there had been no time to make a proper dress for Aurelia, or even invite any other guests. The only other people attending would be their parents. Josette carefully helped Aurelia into the gown.

"Do you know my husband well, Josette?"

Josette dropped the brush. Her eyes widened. How did she know?

"I-I have spoken to him a few times," stammered Josette. "I have known him since I was a child. Not very well though," she added quickly.

"Oh? I was just wondering if you could tell me what he was like. I met him yesterday, and he seemed nice, but he didn't say much about himself."

Josette breathed a sigh of relief.

"Renaud? I mean, the Prince? He's very sweet and playful. And charming and-" She stopped herself before she could say anymore. "Well, he's very nice."

Aurelia smiled. "Really? That's a relief. I would not want to be married to a fastidious, boring man, like my brother Joachim." She laughed before turning serious again. "Do you know if he has any… lovers?"

Josette suddenly started to feel very guilty. "N-not that I know of," she lied. "Of course, he may have one or two, but I am sure that he will let them go now that he is married."

Aurelia's smile grew wider. "You are very nice. I like you. I was upset about leaving my old maid, but I think that you and I will have a good friendship."

Josette chuckled nervously.

"Are you excited about your wedding, mademoiselle?" asked Josette, trying to hide the emotion in her voice.

"Yes, I am," Aurelia admitted. "But I am also nervous."

"Well, that is normal. There is nothing wrong with being nervous on your wedding day."

"Oh? Are you married, Josette?"

"Huh? Oh, well. No. No I'm not," Josette admitted, blushing slightly.

"Is there someone you would like to marry?" asked Aurelia who was genuinely curious.

And then it hit Josette. There was someone she would like to marry. But she would never get the chance to, due to circumstances that were out of her control. Her relationship with Renaud had been doomed before either of them were even born. She opened her mouth to answer her new mistress, intending to make up a quick excuse, but nothing came out. Josette felt her cheeks grow hot, and tears beginning to form in her eyes.

"Are you alright, Josette?" Aurelia asked, looking alarmed.

Josette nodded quickly, and wiped her eyes with her apron.

"You aren't alright. You're crying. What's wrong?"

"There's nothing wrong," Josette insisted, finally regaining the ability to speak. "It's just… The man I want to marry… Well… He cannot marry me."

"You mean he doesn't love you?"

"No, I know he loves me. We just cannot marry, even though we both want to."

"Oh, dear." Aurelia looked concerned. "Why not?"

"His father will not allow us. He must marry someone else."

At this point, a more intelligent girl than Aurelia would have worked out just who the maid was speaking about, but, fortunately for Josette and Renaud, Aurelia was not the brightest flame in the chandelier.

"That's awful!" Aurelia was aghast, momentarily forgetting that she herself was about to be married against her will. "Surely there must be something you can do. Perhaps you can run away together?"

"No, we have spoken about that," said Josette sadly. "It would not be practical. Besides, he has to honour his duty."

Aurelia was about to ask what duty that was, when she heard the door open and felt a chill fill the room as Queen Helena entered.

"Aurelia, it is time." She glanced at Josette who was still red-faced and teary-eyed. "What is wrong with your maid?"

"She's just a little upset." Aurelia gave Josette an encouraging smile. "Come, Josette. We have to go."

"I don't need to come to the wedding," Josette quickly insisted. "I have work to do anyway."

"Oh, but you must! You're my friend. You have to come. Please."

Josette looked uncomfortably into Aurelia's deep blue eyes.

"Alright," she sighed. "I'll come."

* * *

It was unusually cold for a day in June. The sky was dark and grey. A chilling sign of things to come. Renaud half expected vultures to start circling around the castle. He stared down at the ravine and contemplated jumping off the balcony. The last thing he wanted to do right now was get married. He wouldn't have to get married if he was dead. No. That was a ridiculous thought. Perhaps he would miss the ravine and land in the flower garden. The gardeners would be furious if they discovered blood splattered all over their prize-winning white roses.

"So Renaud, how do you like your new wife?"

Renaud groaned.

"I barely know her, Father. I only met her yesterday. I wish you would have given us more time."

"She's very pretty isn't she?" Prince Nicolas continued, ignoring him. "And so polite and dignified."

"I guess so." Renaud did not care how beautiful, polite and dignified Aurelia was. He didn't want to marry her. Prince Nicolas led him back into the ballroom.

"When do you want the wedding to start?" asked Pere Hebert, the priest they had brought in from a nearby village to marry Aurelia and Renaud.

"As soon as the bride and her parents get here," said Prince Nicolas. "They should be- Ah, here they are now."

At that moment, the doors of the ballroom opened and King Christian and Queen Helena entered with Aurelia. Josette followed them, a hesitant look on her face.

"Ah, here they are now. Are you ready, Renaud?"

Renaud and Josette's eyes met. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Josette nodded dejectedly.

"Yes," he said, his voice shaking. "Yes, I am ready."

* * *

Aurelia shivered as she stood before Renaud, naked in the candlelit darkness of his bedroom. Renaud sat on the bed, taking in her pale, thin, unclothed body. Aurelia was nervous. No man had ever gazed upon her bare body before, much less made love to it.

"H-Have you ever done this before?" Aurelia asked nervously.

Renaud smiled as he thought of those many stormy, lust filled nights when he and Josette had made love while listening to the thunderous claps of lightening, and the gentle sounds of the rain hitting the balcony outside. Their bodies entwined as they danced the sensual coital ballet. And after it was all over with, drifting off to sleep with Josette's warm body pressed against him, his head still spinning from the excitement of having his desires fulfilled.

"Yes, I have," he confirmed. "A few times."

Renaud stood and approached his new bride hesitantly. He had done this hundreds of times with Josette. It couldn't be that hard to make love to Aurelia, he supposed. He closed his eyes and leaned in to kiss her. Her lips were soft, but to Renaud they felt cold and harder than stone. He tried to picture Josette in his mind. He imagined himself gently fondling her breasts and kissing her neck, inhaling her scent. It was no use. He just could not make love to Aurelia. He pulled away from her.

"I'm sorry. I can't do this," he admitted and smiled at her apologetically.

"We have to," Aurelia gently reminded him.

"I know. It's just..." Renaud turned away, unable to look at her. "Not tonight. I can't do this tonight."

"Oh." Aurelia was glad that it was too dark for him to see her face reddening. "Maybe... Maybe we could try it tomorrow?"

"Yes, we will try again tomorrow." Renaud turned back to her and gave her an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. It's just... I barely know you. Just give me some time to get to know you first."

"No. It is fine," Aurelia insisted. "It doesn't matter, really. I mean it does matter of course. We have to have a baby. That is why we got married. But that can wait."

Renaud quickly redressed and began to leave. At the door he turned to Aurelia and grinned at her.

"Thank you. We will work this out, I promise."

Aurelia sat back down on her bed and buried her face in her hands. She should have expected this. The people in the books that she read fell in love on sight. But fiction and reality were two different things. Of course Renaud would not fall madly in love with as soon he met her. It was ridiculous of her to think that. But it was not impossible to make him gradually fall in love with her, which is what she vowed to do.

* * *

Josette pulled the blanket over her head and pressed her face against the pillow. She never wanted to leave her room again. She wanted to hurt the person who had decided to torture her by making her the personal maid of Renaud's new wife. She supposed it was his father. He had never liked her, even when she was a child.

Aurelia did seem very nice, at least. She was glad that Renaud was not married to a cold or shallow woman. However, she did not think it was possible for her to form the friendship with Aurelia that the princess desired. Not while she was having an affair with her husband anyway.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Go away!"

The knocking continued.

"Go away!" Josette called again, beginning to become very irritated. She wished this person would leave her to wallow in her own self-pity. Her lover had just married another woman, and even if he had promised that they would still be together, she was still too heartbroken to speak to anyone. She just wanted to be left alone. The knocking still continued, however. Sighing, she dragged herself out of bed and forced the door open.

"Look, when I say 'Go away!' it means that I want- Oh, it's you."

Josette's fifteen year old sister Babette looked curiously up at her sister with her big brown eyes.

"Sorry, Jo. I didn't mean to disturb you." Babette grinned at her.

"No, no. It's fine, Baby. Come in." Josette sat back down on the bed.

"I was worried about you," Babette explained. "I know Renaud got married today."

"You're very sweet, but I am fine."

"You don't look fine," Babette said. "Papa's worried too. I know he is, even though he won't say it."

"I know he cares in his own way," said Josette, hugging her sister tightly. "I will be alright tho- What are you doing here?"

Renaud had appeared in the doorway, a sheepish expression on his face. Josette released Babette from her embrace and stared at him.

"Babette, can you leave us alone for a few moments?" Renaud asked, not taking his eyes off Josette. Babette glanced at Josette and left quickly, closing the door behind her.

"Shouldn't you be with your wife? It is your wedding night after all."

"I tried, Josie. I tried to make love to her. I just couldn't do it."

"So you just left her there? On your wedding night? Renaud, that's horrible," said Josette, frowning.

"But I feel nothing for her. She is nice, and very pretty, but that's it. When I kiss her, there is no passion. No fire. Not like this." He enveloped Josette in a kiss. Josette, unable to help herself, threw her arms around his neck and kissed back. Renaud pushed her down on her bed and began to unlace her dress.

* * *

The following morning, Aurelia farewelled her parents as they left to return to their kingdom. As she watched the carriage exit the castle grounds and disappear into the thick green forest, she was overcome by two distinct feelings.

The first was fear. She had just been abandoned by her parents, in an enormous imposing castle in a country she was unfamiliar with, married to a man who did not love her. She missed her old home, her old maid, and her family, even Abraham. The only thing she had to do was provide a male heir. But what if she only had daughters? What if she could not have children at all? The thought of being unable to fulfil her only duty terrified Aurelia like nothing else.

But, strangely, she also felt as though she was finally free. Free from her parents and free from her childhood. Now that she was on her own, she no longer felt like a young girl. She was now a woman.

It would be an entire week before Renaud could bring himself to make love to Aurelia. The act was dry, bland, and passionless, but at least they were doing it. It became a weekly occurrence. Every Sunday, Aurelia would wait in her room for Renaud, freshly bathed and wearing only her chemise. He would arrive, a grim expression on his face, slowly remove his own clothes, and quickly fulfil his marital duty.

Aurelia and Josette were growing closer too. In fact, Josette was one of the few residents of the castle that Aurelia felt comfortable with. As their friendship grew, Josette began feeling more and more guilty about her relationship with Renaud.

One sunny September afternoon, Aurelia, who did not enjoy being cooped up in the castle on a day as lovely as that one, decided to go out and explore the surrounding areas. The head chef had told her about tiny little village a few miles north of the castle. A picturesque little town with quaint little houses and jovial inhabitants. Aurelia was intrigued and wanted to visit it immediately. So she asked her husband if he would go with. Renaud declined, instead suggesting that she be accompanied by several servants. Aurelia agreed and she, James Potts, his wife Maggie, and a guard set out in a beautiful carriage drawn by two white stallions. She had intended to ask Josette to accompany her, but had not been able to find her anywhere.

Truth be told, Aurelia was a little apprehensive about going to town with such an entourage. She did not want to attract the attention of the villagers. She wanted to fit in, and she was sure she would not be able to do so if she turned up in a fancy carriage surrounded by servants.

As it turned out, she was right to feel uneasy about the situation. As soon as they arrived, villagers started paying attention to them. They stared at Aurelia and gossiped amongst themselves about the newly arrived princess. It was making her feel very uncomfortable.

Escaping from the servants for a moment, her attention was drawn to a little shop nearby. There was nothing strange or unusual about this shop, and Aurelia was unsure of why it had grabbed her interest. As she moved closer, she saw a little sign by the door. It was a bookshop! How fortunate it was for her to have stumbled across it. A bell sounded as she pushed the door open. She looked around the shop delightedly. An elderly man looked up from where he was sitting.

"May I help you?" he asked as he peered curiously at her over his spectacles.

"No, thank you, I was just looking-" she began, before she remembered about what Renaud said about the library. "Actually, I would like to buy a few things."

As he listened intently, she told the bookseller all about Renaud, and the castle, and the library.

"Oh, are you a princess? It's a shame my wife isn't here. She finds things like royalty and castles impossibly romantic," he chuckled. "Dear Ariana can be so childlike sometimes. Anyway, what kind of books are you interested in?"

Aurelia smiled. She rather liked this older gentleman.

"What do you suggest?"

* * *

Josette groaned as she felt an arm extend around her waist.

"Ugh. What do you want now?"

"Aurelia's gone out," Renaud whispered, kissing her neck. "It will probably be hours before she is back. How about a romantic picnic in the garden?"

"Renaud, I have work to do," Josette sighed. Renaud took her by the hand.

"Come on, we hardly ever get to spend any time together anymore. And when the child arrives-"

"The child?" Josette repeated, pulling her hand away from his. "You're expecting?"

"No. Not yet," Renaud admitted. "But we have to have one soon. I don't go to Aurelia's room every week for fun. Not when I'd rather be with you."

"That's what I've been meaning to speak to you about. We can't carry on like this any longer."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I think we should stop our affair. I'm tired of sneaking around. Aurelia is my friend and I hate betraying her trust. We are not fifteen anymore. We need to stop this childish nonsense and grow up. I can't stay your mistress forever, Renaud. What if I want to get married myself?"

"B-but Josie-"

"I love you, Renaud. It is going to be difficult to give you up. That is why I never want you to speak to me again. For both our sakes."

Josette threw her arms around Renaud and gave him a long, furious kiss. She pulled away and looked him in the eyes.

"Good bye, Renaud."

Josette stalked away as Renaud stared after her, his mouth hanging open in silent shock.


	6. Scarlet

**Chapter Six**

_November 11__th__, 1738_

It had been seventeen years since Amelie-Rose Lambert had married Gerald Dubois. The match had been far from perfect.

She had grown up as the only daughter of a wealthy merchant and his social climbing wife. Monsieur Lambert had adored his only child, whom he had named after the two grandmothers who had raised him after both of his parents had died of consumption, and she adored him. Amelie-Rose's early days were as wonderful as a young girl's childhood could possibly be. Her tutors taught her to read and gave her piano lessons, and her maids taught her to sew and cook. When she was not being educated, she spent her time horse-riding through long open fields and going on picnics by the lake with her parents.

When Amelie-Rose was fifteen, Monsieur Lambert lost all of his money, thanks in part to some bad business deals, as well as nasty fire destroying a large amount of his stock. Feeling ashamed of himself and unable to face his wife and daughter, he took his own life. Years later, Gerald informed his wife that her father had taken the coward's way out, and, because of this, he deserved to die.

Amelie-Rose was, understandably, distraught over her father's death, and this was not helped when she had to leave the expansive, fully-staffed mansion that she had grown up in, and move, with her widowed mother, to a small cottage in the nearby village of Roux. It was there that she met Gerald, a local hunter. He was tall, handsome, and, at twenty-eight years of age, much older than she was.

From the moment that he saw her, Gerald was taken by her loveliness. With her long black hair and equally black eyes, she had been just what he had been dreaming of. Amelie-Rose, still grieving for her father, had refused his first twelve marriage proposals. She was not keen on marrying a man so much older than herself. Her mother, concerned for her daughter's future, was aghast to learn this, and insisted that Amelie-Rose accept his thirteenth proposal. And so she did. She and Gerald married three weeks after her seventeenth birthday and moved into a secluded hunter's cottage, deep in the forest adjacent to Roux. Their first son was born not a year later.

* * *

"Wake up, my little oak. It's time to go."

Five year old Gaston Dubois opened his shining blue eyes and beamed up at his mother. Amelie-Rose bent down and kissed her youngest son on the forehead. The boy groaned and made a big show of wiping his face with his blankets. Amelie-Rose giggled. Gaston looked from his mother to the window, and stared, still bleary-eyed, outside at the early morning sky which was still quite dark.

"Mama, why's it dark outside still?"

"It's early, darling," Amelie-Rose explained, patting his head fondly. "Papa said that you can go hunting with him and Greg this morning."

Gaston's eyes lit up spectacularly. He had been waiting for this day for so long!

"Really, Mama?" he asked, excitement tingling in his voice. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Amelie-Rose laughed. "But you must hurry or Papa said that they will leave without you."

Gaston leapt out of his bed and ran to the wardrobe to find his clothing. Amelie-Rose followed and helped him to pick out his outfit. After she had tied back his hair and helped him put his tiny hunting boots on, he quickly ran from his bedroom, and into the living room where his father and Gregoire, his sixteen year old brother, were waiting.

"Good, you're awake," Gerald said when he saw Gaston. He turned to face Amelie-Rose who had followed Gaston in. "We'll be back in a few hours, Amelie-Rose. Have breakfast on the table by then."

He took a gun from a rack by the front door and handed it to Greg, before choosing one for himself.

"Can I have a gun too, Papa?" Gaston piped up.

Gerald and Greg stared at him.

"You're too young for a gun now, darling," Amelie-Rose offered soothingly. "Maybe in a few years."

Gaston's face fell.

"Don't feel bad, Gaston," Greg said kindly, bending down so that his face was level with his younger brother's. "You can have a go with my gun."

Gaston grinned up at his brother.

"Thanks, Greg."

"Come on," Gerald said gruffly to his sons. "We have to go now."

Gaston took his brother's hand eagerly. Amelie-Rose watched from the doorway as her husband and sons disappeared into the forest.

Gerald led his sons through the thick, deep forest. Greg kept a tight grip on his brother's hand. Gaston shivered in the cold November air. He should have worn a coat, he thought to himself. The three of them walked in silence. Gerald had forbidden either of his sons from making any noise. Soon enough, Gaston's little legs began to feel very tired.

"Papa," he whined. "Papa, I'm tired."

Gerald shushed him.

"I told you not to make any noise."

Placing his gun on the forest's floor, Greg knelt down so that Gaston could climb onto his shoulders. Gerald glared at them, but his attention soon turned to something else. Putting a finger to his lips, and motioning for Greg to follow him, he crept through the trees and pointed. A tiny doe was drinking from a small puddle, blissfully unaware that her life was about to be tragically cut short.

"Shoot it, Greg," Gerald ordered.

Greg lifted Gaston from his shoulders and placed him back on the ground. He looked hesitantly at the doe.

"Papa, it looks awfully young. Maybe it's been separated from its mother and can't find its way back home. I don't want to shoot a baby."

Gerald made a noise of disgust. Greg had always been a reluctant hunter; a weakling who preferred literature and flowers to fighting and hunting. He blamed the boy's mother. He had tried to tell Amelie-Rose that books would destroy his mind and make him believe that he was someone greater than himself. But the foolish woman just didn't listen to him!

"Do it," he said again, glaring at him with a stern expression on his face.

"Maybe Gaston can do it," Greg offered. "I did tell him that he could play with my gun."

Gaston looked up at his father hopefully. However, Gerald's eyes remained fixed on his eldest son.

"No. You have to shoot it yourself. That's an order."

Greg sighed in defeat, lifted his gun, and aimed it at the doe. He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. He half hoped that he would miss, but knew that if he did he would receive his father's scorn, and possibly a beating. He breathed a sigh of relief when he finally heard the shot fire.

Greg opened his eyes and stared at the doe, which was lying motionless on the ground. Gaston cheered for his brother's accomplishment. Gerald clapped his son on the back and went to inspect the carcass.

"I knew you could do it," he said proudly, as he flung the dead animal over his shoulder. "Now let's go home. Hopefully your foolish mother has finished cooking breakfast."

"But I wanna shoot something!" Gaston whined.

"Some other time, son. I'm hungry."

"B-b-but-" Gaston began whimper.

"Gaston, men do not cry," Gerald warned. "Only women cry. Do you want to be a big, strong man, Gaston? Or a weak, pathetic woman?"

Gaston fought back his tears.

"I-I want to be a man," he declared determinedly.

"That's better. Now, come on."

Gerald strode away, the dead doe hanging lifelessly from his shoulder. Gaston eagerly skipped after him. Greg stayed back and stared at the puddle where the doe had once been drinking from. He did not want to be a hunter. Why couldn't his father understand that? He hated killing. But, unfortunately, he saw no way out. He had to live with his fate.

* * *

Amelie-Rose had just finished boiling the eggs when Gerald and Gaston came in through the front door. Greg followed them shortly after, a morose look on his face. As she set the eggs down on the table, she beamed at them.

"Did you catch anything?"

Gerald showed her the deer's carcass. He placed it on the table.

"Greg shot it himself," he declared proudly.

Amelie-Rose raised an eyebrow.

"It's not very big, is it?" she said. "Must have been a baby, poor thing. It'll be enough for dinner tonight though."

"Hopefully," Greg muttered quietly.

"Are you alright, dear?" she asked, putting a maternal hand on his shoulder.

"I'm fine," he insisted, still looking somewhat distressed.

"Are you sure?" Amelie-Rose looked concerned. "Have some breakfast and maybe you'll feel better."

Greg sat down and began eating. Amelie-Rose searched around the cupboards.

"We've run out bread, I'm afraid. We'll have to go to town this afternoon to get some more."

Gerald grunted. Amelie-Rose sat down at the table and watched her family eat.

Her two sons were completely different. Yet Gaston completely idolized his older brother. Greg was sensitive; a kind boy who was unsuited to the life that his father wanted for him. He had never liked hunting and despised killing animals for fun. He liked books, nature, and music. Amelie-Rose had tried to nurture these interests when he had been younger, but it had been no use as Gerald insisted on training his son to be a hunter. Gaston, who was boisterous, playful, and the son that his father had always wanted, had been born when Greg was eleven, and by that time Gerald had already set his oldest son on his path and it was too late to turn back. Greg was the son his father was training to replace himself.

If only their births had been reversed, she thought bitterly. The boys would have been so much happier if Gaston had been the one his father pushed to be a hunter, and Greg had been left alone to pursue his own interests. It was a pity that it had taken eleven years for Amelie-Rose and Gerald to have another son. If only it had happened much sooner.

When Greg was three, Amelie-Rose gave birth to a daughter they had named Georgette. Although he had initially been disappointed that she was not a boy, Gerald eventually grew to adore his little daughter. She softened him. In fact, he appeared to love her more than he had and ever would love either of his sons. When Georgette died suddenly at the age of thirteen months, Gerald was devastated. He returned to his gruff, emotionless ways and never spoke of his daughter again. If either Amelie-Rose or Greg dared to mention her name in his presence, they would be given a harsh beating. Amelie-Rose was glad that they lived so far away from the village that she did not have any close friends. It would be awful work hiding the bruises she received from Gerald's beatings.

If Georgette had only lived, and Gaston had been the first born instead of Greg, her boys would have much happier existences. But there was no use dwelling on what could have been, Amelie-Rose concluded.

Greg and Gaston went with their mother to Roux that afternoon. It was market day and the village was very crowded. While Amelie-Rose was buying bread, Gaston went to play with the other boys who lived around the village. Greg took the moment to walk around the outskirts of the town and enjoy the fragrant flowers and trees. Walking back into the village, he notice Gaston engaged in a fight with two other boys. Greg quickly broke up the fight and pulled his brother away by the ear.

"Gaston, you can't solve all of your problems with violence," Greg told him later.

"Papa says you can," countered Gaston.

"Papa… Papa doesn't know everything. You should not listen to everything that he says."

That night Amelie-Rose cooked the doe that Greg had shot for dinner. Greg did not seem particularly interested in eating it, however, and merely picked at his meat until his father crossly ordered him to finish every last bite.

Later, as they were relaxing by the fire, Gaston came up to his brother with a hopeful expression on his face.

"Can you tell me the witch story?"

"The witch story?" Greg repeated, confused.

"Yeah! You know, the one with the three witches who tell that man he's going to be the king and his wife-"

"Oh! You mean _Macbeth_!"

"Uh-huh!"

Gaston, who agreed with his father that books were a waste of time, did not usually like stories. But he did like _Macbeth_, especially when Greg read it to him. He liked the witches, and the killing, and the way Greg did different voices for each of the characters. Sometimes Amelie-Rose would join in and play Lady Macbeth.

Greg retrieved his copy of _Macbeth_, an old and worn book he had gotten for his twelfth birthday, and began to read. Gaston lay on the floor and listened with rapt attention. When Greg finally finished, he looked down to see that his brother's eyes were closed, a contented smile on his face. Greg picked him up and carried him to his bedroom. Just as Gaston's head hit his pillow, he opened his eyes and stared up inquisitively at his brother.

"Greg, why did Lady Macbeth kill herself?"

Greg thought about his brother's question for a moment.

"Well, she felt guilty about the-"

"What does guilty mean?"

"It means that she felt bad about killing all those people so that her husband could be king."

"Why?" questioned Gaston.

"Well," Greg began, unsure of how to explain it. "Killing people is not a very nice thing to do."

"But her husband did become king, right? Why would she kill herself if she got what she wanted? Who cares if those other people died."

Greg stared at him, unable to make sense of what his brother was saying.

"It's getting late, Gaston. I'll see you tomorrow morning. Good night."

"G'night."

* * *

A noise from outside of his bedroom caused Gaston to awake from a deep slumber. Was Papa going hunting again today? Gaston quickly got out of bed. He certainly did not want to miss another chance to play with a gun! He carefully tiptoed into the living room where he found Greg taking a blunderbuss from the rack.

"What are you doing, Greg?"

Greg jumped a foot from the ground when he heard Gaston speak.

"Nothing. Go back to bed," he said quickly.

"Are you going hunting?" Gaston asked. "Let me come with you!"

"No, Gaston. I'm going alone."

Gaston was not going to take no for an answer.

"Take me with you!" he pleaded loudly.

Greg looked nervously at his father's bedroom door.

"Okay, fine. You can come. Just be quiet okay?"

"Okay," Gaston agreed happily.

The two brothers trudged through the forest in the freezing early morning air. Both of them had neglected to bring coats, but only Gaston seemed to be showing signs of coldness. At the same spot they had stopped the previous day, Greg turned to Gaston with a grim, yet determined look on his face.

"Gaston," he said softly, his voice faltered with emotion. "Please go back now. Please."

Gaston frowned.

"No!" he said determinedly. "I wanna see you shoot something again."

"Gaston, please." Greg knelt down to his level once again. "Please, go home. If you go back now you can play with my gun as much as you like tomorrow."

Gaston considered this for a moment.

"Promise?" he asked.

"I promise." Greg smiled at his brother and gave him a long hug. "Good bye, Gaston."

"Bye!"

Gaston watched his brother disappear through the trees. He waited for a few moments, before he turned back and started walking away. Suddenly he heard a shot. Gaston grinned. Greg must have shot something magnificent. Perhaps it was a wolf, or an adult male deer with antlers! He turned around and started running in the direction he heard the shot. He wasn't going to miss this for anything!

He leaned against a tree to catch his breath, and looked wildly around for Greg. He couldn't see him anywhere. Maybe he had gone home already? Gaston sighed in disappointment. He was just starting to walk back when he almost tripped over something in his path.

Gaston's eyes widened as he looked down to see Greg's body, lying in the same puddle they had seen the doe drinking from the day before, blood oozing from his chest and his blue eyes staring lifelessly at him.


	7. Baby Blue

**Chapter Seven**

_February 19__th__, 1739_

One of the coldest winters Nivernais had ever experienced was drawing to a close. The snow people built by small children, and adults in fits of youthful frivolity, were now dripping closer and closer to their watery deaths. Farmers mourned the loss of the livestock that had died during the violent snowstorms that had plagued the season. Beleaguered husbands were anxiously awaiting the springtime, when they would no longer be forced to wear the unsightly and uncomfortable sweaters knitted for them by their wives.

In the picturesque little town of Villemont, Ariana Devin, who usually spent her time gallivanting around France, was now the proud mother of three newborn girls. She held weekly meetings with fellow new mother Laurelle LeFou, who had just given birth to a baby boy. Michel Desrosiers, who was still single and childless, decided to give up farming and take over the running of the town's tavern instead.

The Nivernais castle had become home to a disastrous amount of snow that winter. The doors and windows often became clogged up with the icy powder, trapping the residents of the castle inside. This proved to be disastrous as many of the servants could not leave the castle to perform their chores. The Nivernais Royal Family had more important things to worry about, however.

"You know Renaud," said Prince Nicolas wistfully as he stared out the window at the lawn, which was still covered with a healthy coat of snow. "I have always wanted to travel. To see the world. Italy, Spain, Denmark. And now that you are taking over the crown, I can finally do that."

Prince Renaud, sitting on the love seat nearby, deep in thought about his tumultuous love life and impending fatherhood, could only muster a grunt in response.

"I wanted to travel as a young man," Nicolas continued, oblivious to his son's apathy. "But then my father died and I married your mother. And then you were born, of course. We had intended to go on a trip around Europe when you were twelve. Just the three of us, remember that, Renaud? But then your mother died and the trip was cancelled. My poor beloved Noemie. I miss her more and more each day."

On any other day Renaud would have gladly joined his father in reminiscing about his dearly departed mother. But today he was too distracted to pay any attention to what Nicolas was saying.

"More brandy, James. This is a joyous occasion," said Nicolas jovially, handing his glass to the majordomo.

"It is not a joyous occasion, Father," said Renaud, speaking for the first time in an hour. "The child has yet to be born. It wasn't even meant to arrive until March. What if something goes wrong?"

"Nothing will go wrong, Renaud," insisted Nicolas, trying to relieve Renaud's nerves, but failing miserably. "Why, you were born two months early yourself. I can still remember that day perfectly. What an ugly little thing you were."

"Your highnesses!"

Renaud and Nicolas turned to see a servant girl standing in the doorway.

"The Princess has given birth," she announced. "It's a boy."

At these words, Renaud's heart leapt. He felt a wave of complete and utter relief come over him. While he would not object to having a daughter, the arrival of son meant that his duty had been fulfilled and he would no longer have to continue to make love to Aurelia. If you could call what they did "making love". The act was so bland and meaningless that associating the word love with it would be laughable.

"Is he alright? How is Aurelia?" he asked breathlessly.

In the past year and a half, Renaud had grown to care for Aurelia. He did not love her in a romantic way, as his heart completely belonged to his beloved Josette, but more in the way one loves a close friend. The fact that Josette now refused to even be in the same room as him had only made him closer to Aurelia. While their coitus was still unimpressive, Renaud had begun to discover that there was more to Aurelia than she let on.

"Not well, sir," the girl said grimly. "The baby is perfectly healthy, but the Princess barely made it through. She is alive, albeit very weak."

* * *

As she stared down at Aurelia, it dawned on Josette just how young the Princess was. As she lay unconscious on the bed, her cheeks flushed with strain, she looked more like a little girl who had just been beaten senseless by her abusive father, rather than an eighteen year old girl who had given birth to her first child just moments before.

The labour had lasted almost two days. It was a harrowing and terrifying process that had severely drained poor Aurelia's spirits. Josette would have preferred to have not been around when it had happened. It brought back painful memories of her mother dying shortly after Babette's birth. But she reluctantly agreed to stay with Aurelia, who had begged her. The whole gruesome experience had made her privately decide that, if she ever did get married, to never ever have children. She never wanted to go through horrifying agony of childbirth, after witnessing Aurelia nearly die from the process. Aurelia opened her eyes, which had lost their youthful twinkle.

"Where is my baby? Is he alright?" Aurelia whispered.

"He's fine, dear," Josette assured her, giving her a comforting pat on the cheek. "Just rest for a moment."

Josette moved to look at the newborn prince who was lying silently in his cradle. The baby opened his eyes and stared up at her. She looked away quickly. He looked painfully like Renaud, with his shining blue eyes and mop of messy honey blonde hair. She closed her eyes and picked him up in her arms.

Glancing back at Aurelia, who appeared to have fallen asleep, Josette carefully carried the baby into the adjacent room where Renaud and Nicolas were waiting. As she placed the child in his father's arms, Renaud and Josette's eyes met briefly. Again, she looked away quickly.

"He looks just you," she told him. It was the first time she had spoken to him in a year.

Renaud looked down at his son. He had to admit it, the baby looked an awful lot like him.

"He looks a lot better than you did when you were born," said Prince Nicolas, looking over Renaud's shoulder. Renaud rolled his eyes. "He isn't quite as scrawny, and he isn't that dreadful shade of pink either."

Renaud glared at his father, before he turned his attention back to his son. What was he supposed to do with him? He was utterly unprepared for fatherhood. Aurelia was the one who had given him life. He had merely sired the child. Now what was he supposed to do? Wait for the boy to get bigger and then try to bond with him? That seemed terribly inconvenient. He wished he could ask Josette for advice. She always knew what to do. If only she was still talking to him.

"The Princess is too weak to feed and care for the child. She cannot strain herself after such an exhaustive labour," explained Josette. "She may need weeks, possibly months to recover."

"I suppose we shall have to hire a wet nurse," said Nicolas, frowning. "James, send word to all the noble houses in the area. Perhaps they have one they can spare."

"Excuse me, sir," said James timidly.

"Yes, James?"

"My wife, Maggie. She gave birth last week, but unfortunately our daughter did not live long after her birth. Perhaps she could nurse the little prince?"

Prince Nicolas considered James's offer for a few moments.

"Yes," he said finally. "I suppose that would be better than getting one from another household. Are you sure that she will agree to do it?"

"Well, no," James admitted. "But I will ask her."

* * *

When Margaret "Maggie" Fletcher had first met James Potts she was a dewy eyed young maid working in a mansion in Oxfordshire. She could still remember their first encounter. It was her first day. The lady of the house had invited her friends over for tea. Maggie had been pouring the tea for them, when James had come in to offer the women a biscuit. She had been distracted by James's eyes, which she likened to colour of the sky just before the sunset, and had caused the tea to spill out onto the table. She had been dreadfully embarrassed, until James, her mistress, and the rest of the women in the room burst into laughter.

The courtship had been a long one. Almost five years! When they finally married, James received an offer to work as the head of household in a castle in France, which he, of course, accepted immediately. So they moved to France, where they began to try to start a family, a perilous journey that proved to be fraught with complications. Conceiving the child, and the pregnancy itself was not the problem. No. The problem was keeping the baby alive after it had been born. Their first child, Laurence, had been born a year after they had first moved to France. He had been sickly when he was born, and died just six hours later. Jessica, their next baby, had lasted a little longer. She was three months old when Maggie found her dead in her cradle. And finally, Analiese, who had been born just last week, lived for an entire day before she lost her short life.

Maggie could not help but wonder what she was doing wrong. It had to be her fault that her children kept dying before they could even take their first steps. She must be an awful mother.

Maggie was hesitant when James first told her he had volunteered her to be the baby prince's wet nurse. She was still grieving for Analiese, and she doubted her own child caring abilities. How could she care for another person's child when she could barely keep her own alive? Nevertheless, she reluctantly agreed, as it would provide them with more money, and the little prince would die if he did not have someone to feed him.

She fell in love with the tiny baby the moment she saw him. His eyes reminded her of James's, so big and blue and bursting with poetry. She loved his reddish blonde hair and his tiny little hands and feet. She loved the smell of his freshly bathed head. And she loved how soft he felt when she held him in her arms.

He had been named Prince Nicolas Christophe Adam Felix Edgar Laurent. An awfully long name for such an adorable little boy. His father and grandfather called him Nicky. Aurelia called him Chris, as it reminded her of her father. Maggie preferred to call him Adam. She had always liked the name. It reminded of her of her own father, who would tell her stories from the Book of Genesis when she was a young child.

After she fed the baby, she would cradle him in her arms and sing him to sleep. It was always the same tune that she sung, but the lyrics changed each time. It was a lilting, cheerful, harmonious, slow tune that calmed him every time that he heard it. As she watched his little eyelids droop, she felt a warm, humbling feeling grow inside of her. Just because she had failed miserably to be a mother to her own poor children did not mean that she could not be a mother to this sweet little baby. The only problem was that the little boy that she held in her arms already had a mother. A mother who was growing stronger and stronger each day and would soon be asking for her son back.

* * *

_Ugh. There are too many babies in this chapter. I'm getting a little sick of them, to be entirely honest. Fortunately I only have Belle to go. Speaking of which, the next chapter will be rather depressing. Don't say I didn't warn you. _


	8. Taupe

**Chapter Eight**

_February 28__th__, 1740_

"Look at all those ugly street urchins looking at us," said Queen Helena to her husband. "See the expressions on their dirty little faces? You'd think that they had never seen a horse and carriage before."

Princess Aurelia's parents, King Christian and Queen Helena, were on their way to the Nivernais castle to visit their infant grandson, who had recently turned a year old. They were mildly looking forward to meeting their first grandchild and seeing the daughter they had not spoken to since her wedding three years previously. The journey would ordinarily only take them four or five days, but their driver took a detour through Paris so that the Queen could purchase a dress from her favourite couturier.

"What a lovely carriage! Must be royalty," Sofia Desrosiers said to herself, when she saw the carriage carrying the royals go past just as she left her own house. She pulled her hoodless cloak tighter around herself and set off down the road, her long blonde hair trailing after her. It was a familiar path to her cousin Celine's house. One she had taken many times since she had first arrived in Paris almost five years ago. She carefully evaded the thieves that haunted the bottom of her street, turned a corner, and gave the tired old strumpets that were still lurking around the brothel an encouraging smile.

Life had been going well for Sofia lately. She adored the wealthy little girls that she taught ballet to. They reminded her of her own privileged childhood back in Florence, and she had come to think of them as her own daughters. Maurice, who was not comfortable with Sofia supporting them on her own, had found work as a carpenter. Though the two of them were both bringing an income, they were still rather poor and could not afford to move from their dangerously broken down old house, but they were living much more comfortably than they had been several years previously.

Finally arriving at her destination, Sofia ascended up the quaint little stone path to Walter and Celine's house, which was decidedly less derelict than her own, and knocked lightly on the door. The door flung open, and Celine appeared. She looked Sofia up and down, and grinned.

"Ah, Sofia!" she said, beaming. "You're here just in time! I just finished setting everything up. Just sit down over there."

Maurice's old mentor, Marcel Charron, had passed away the previous May, and Celine had taken up painting to soothe her grief over her father's death. She excelled at it, having studied it when she was younger, and had asked Sofia if she could paint her portrait.

"You have such beautiful facial features," her cousin had told her the night she had first proposed the idea. "You look like a work of art yourself. Please let me paint you, Sofia. Please?"

Sofia sat down on the love seat as requested. Celine moved behind her easel and gave her a long, hard stare.

"Perfect! My vision is coming to life. Now, give me a wistful smile!" said Celine, picking up her palette

"How? What does wistful mean?" asked Sofia, blinking in confusion.

"It's a kind of regretful longing," Celine explained. "Just think about your long lost love."

"But I don't have a long lost love!"

"Just pretend you have one."

"Why am I smiling if I'm longing for my lost love?"

"Forget it, Sofia," said Celine, sighing irritably. "Just smile normally."

Sofia complied.

"You have such lovely eyes, Sofia, but I can never decide what colour they are," said Celine. "When I greeted you at the door they were a scintillating amber, but now that you are inside they are a gorgeous shade of light brown. I think I'll mix the yellow and the brown together for them. Luckily I replenished my red paint supplies before you came over. That's what I've meaning to ask you about, Sofia. Why do you always wear red? I don't think I've ever seen you wear any other colour. Even on your wedding day you wore that lovely scarlet dress and nothing else."

"I just like the colour, that's all, really. It is bright and cheerful, and it reminds me of my old bedroom back home," answered Sofia. "Whenever I see it, it brings me back to my girlhood. I can just picture myself lying in bed, listening to my mother tell me a story as I drift off to sleep.

"Mama!"

Celine's two year old son, David, a tiny cherubic little thing with a mess of brown curls and an angelic smile, had toddled into the room.

"David!" Sofia squealed in delight. "Come and sit on Aunty Sofia's lap, darling."

David toddled forward and Sofia swept him up into her arms. He looked up at her, his dark brown eyes gleaming softly, and smiled. Sofia felt an intense pang of longing in her heart. She was still childless after just over four years of marriage. She was starting to think that there was something wrong with her. She wanted to be a mother so badly!

"Perfect!" shouted Celine. "There's the wistful expression I wanted. Hold it for me, Sofia!"

* * *

"What's wrong, my doe? You seem upset tonight," said Maurice that evening as they were having dinner together. "Is there something bothering you, Sofia?"

Sofia sighed and looked up from her gelatinous, foul-smelling soup to her concerned husband.

"I am fine, dolce," she insisted, unconvincingly. "I just went to see Celine today. She wanted to paint my portrait, you remember? And her little David was there. He is so sweet and adorable, like a little cherub. I gave him a cuddle, and then he looked up at me with those lovely brown eyes of his and I just- Oh, dolce, I just want a little baby of my own so badly!"

Maurice and Sofia had been married for a little over four years and there was still no sign of the baby Sofia longed for. They had tried and tried, yet Sofia remained nulliparous. Truth be told, part of Maurice was relieved that they had not yet conceived a child. Sofia's hips were so narrow, and her waist so dainty and slender, that he was worried that she would not be able to survive the exhausting, painful, and dangerous act of childbirth.

"Perhaps," Maurice began, unsure of how to phrase what he was about to say. "Perhaps we should stop waiting for it to happen. We don't need a baby to enrich our marriage. Not every woman has to be a mother. We should get on with our lives."

"I know that I do not need to have baby, and I shouldn't need one to be happy. I don't believe that a woman's only duty is to make lots of children. That is a ridiculous idea. And I know that it wouldn't be wise to have a child given our financial situation. But I just want one so badly! I cannot explain it. It is biological, I suppose."

"Maybe we should try harder," suggested Maurice.

Sofia raised her eyebrows and grinned.

"Really, dolce, this is serious. Maybe I am just not meant to have a child. I suppose it is just as well, though. I would probably be a dreadful mother."

"No, no. That's not true," Maurice insisted, taking Sofia's hand to make her feel better. "You would be a wonderful parent. Any child would be lucky to have you as their mother, in fact. It took my parents years to have a child. Just because we have not had one yet does not mean that we won't have a child eventually. We shouldn't give up hope."

"That's not what you said before."

"Forget what I said before. You deserve everything that you desire."

"You're sweet, Maurice," she said, smiling sadly. She put her spoon down and stood up from her chair. "I feel too sick to eat tonight. I'm going to bed early. Good night, dolce."

Sofia was still sick the next morning, and opted to stay in bed. Maurice left her alone and got on with his day. Just as he was sitting down to lunch, he heard a loud scream coming from their bedroom.

"Maurice!" Sofia screamed as she ran into the room. There was an enormous smile on her face. Her entire body shook as if she were about to explode out of happiness. "I just realized! I haven't bled in two months!"

Maurice was delighted. He beamed up at his wife.

"You mean that you haven't cut yourself cooking for two whole months, my doe? That's wonderful! You're improving."

Sofia's smile lessened.

"No, no, Maurice," she said gently. "That means that I am pregnant. We are finally going to have a baby, isn't that wonderful?"

"A-a baby?" Maurice stammered, briefly unable to make sense of the situation.

"Yes!" cried Sofia joyously, embracing her husband and fighting back tears. "A little baby of my own to love. Our own, I mean. A little person we can cuddle, and play with, and watch grow. Oh, Maurice, I feel like the luckiest woman in the world!"

Never in her life had Sofia felt so ecstatic! She really did feel as though all of her dreams had suddenly come true. Finally she was going to have a baby. Finally she would be a mother. Maurice had not desired to be a parent in the same way Sofia did, but he did concede that it would pleasant to have a baby in the house, hopefully one that looked just like its mother. And, of course, he wanted anything that would make Sofia happy.

They began to prepare the nursery. It was tiny, full of leaks, and by far the coldest room in the house, with creaky wooden floors, and only one small window that looked out onto a blank brick wall, but it was the only place they had. Maurice did his best to repair the cracks in the ceiling, and Sofia began to decorate it, with the help of Celine who had volunteered to paint the walls. It had taken Sofia weeks to decide on the colour of her baby's room. She had never been good with making decisions. Ultimately she chose pink. While she loved red, she did not consider it appropriate for an infant's domain, so she went with pink, or as Sofia called it "baby red".

The kindly old Madame Bisette, who lived next door and had nine grown children of her own, began to teach Sofia how to knit, sew, and cook, at the latter's request. Sofia was determined to be a good mother to her child. She failed miserably at her first attempts at all three, but, with Maurice's encouragement, she eventually became adequately proficient at knitting and sewing. She was still having a bit of trouble with cooking though.

"I think I should like a little girl," Sofia said to Maurice one afternoon as she hung the pink curtains she had made for the baby's nursery. "Not that I wouldn't love a boy, of course, but I just would not know how to be a mother to one. With a girl I could do all the things that I did with my mother when I was young. What do you think, Maurice?"

"I don't care as long as you are satisfied, my doe," he replied, gazing at her adoringly. He loved to see Sofia so happy.

"I used to think I'd have a whole flock of children," Sofia continued. "But now I think that I will be happy with just one. It is a shame that we might not be able to give our little baby a brother or sister though. I never had any myself, and I was so lonely with no one to play with. You didn't have any siblings either, did you, dolce?"

"I have a twin brother, actually," replied Maurice. "I can't believe I have never mentioned him to you before. I could have sworn I had."

"Twins?" Sofia squealed in delight. "Does he look like you? Where does he live?"

"No, he and I look nothing alike. He lives back in the village I grew up in."

"We should go and visit him after the child is born. Oh, I know it is unlikely, but I hope we have twins, dolce," said Sofia dreamily. "Imagine! Two cute little babies for the price of one! That's greedy of me to say, though. We are lucky to be having this one."

"Yes," agreed Maurice. "I was never too fond of that town. I never felt like I truly belonged there, but it would be nice to see Michel again. And the bookseller too. I wonder if he is still married to that beautiful blonde woman."

The weeks went by quickly. Sofia's stomach began to grow a little bump. Having been slender her entire life, her new figure both amazed and delighted her. The first time she felt her baby move inside of her, she cried out of happiness for two whole hours, leaving Maurice very bewildered.

She said a tearful good bye to the little girls she taught ballet to, and promised that she would resume their lessons once her baby was old enough to be parted from its mother. She would have to go back to work as soon as possible. Maurice did bring in a significant amount of money, but it wouldn't be enough once the baby arrived.

Maurice made a little cradle for the baby to sleep in, and Sofia sewed little garments, knitted little booties, and crocheted little dolls. Sofia and Maurice both agreed that they would treat their child with respect from the moment he or she was born. They would never, ever inflict the horrors of "baby-talk" upon them. No, their child would be treated like an equal member of their family.

"Maurice," said Sofia as she descended down to his cellar one afternoon. "Maurice, we need to have a serious talk about names."

"Names? What for?" asked Maurice as he looked up from his latest contraption.

"Our baby," Sofia replied irritably.

"Oh. I've been meaning to ask you about that. If it's a boy, I-I would like to name him Aubin, after my father."

"Oh, that sounds simply fine, dolce! I can't think of a more perfect name. I certainly wouldn't name it after my father, Massimo. It sounds too foreign for a little French baby. And I still haven't forgiven him for what he did," she said, her expression darkening. "Anyway, if it is a girl, I would like to name her Jeanne, after my mother. I've always known that I would name my first born daughter after Mama. But we need a middle name. What was your mother's name, Maurice?"

"Isabelle."

Sofia let out a high-pitched squeal that made Maurice drop his spanner in surprise.

"W-what's wrong?"

"What a beautiful name!" she exclaimed. "Let's call her that!"

"No, and besides, I thought you wanted to name her after your mother?"

"I still can. Jeanne will be her middle name. Isabelle Jeanne Desrosiers. Beautiful, don't you think?"

"No. I don't like it," said Maurice, frowning.

"Why?" asked Sofia, her own smile fading. "What's wrong with it?"

"My mother and I were not exactly close. It would feel wrong to name my child after her."

"Why didn't you like her?" Sofia asked accusingly. "What did she do to you?"

"What did your father do to you?" Maurice countered.

But Sofia did not answer, a look of intense pain appearing on her face instead. She touched her stomach lightly.

"Is there something wrong, Sofia?" asked Maurice concernedly.

"My tummy hurts a bit," she explained worriedly.

"Is that normal?"

"I don't know. I am slightly worried, though. I haven't felt the baby move in over a week," Sofia confessed.

"Don't worry. It's probably just tired. You should go and lie down for a while," said Maurice, patting her hand comfortingly.

"I hope you are right, dolce," she said as she started back up the stairs. "I really do."

At six o'clock, Maurice checked on Sofia, who was fast asleep, and had dinner alone. He read a book by the fire until ten, when he began to feel tired. He opened the door to his and Sofia's bedroom quietly, assuming that his wife was still asleep, and was surprised to find Sofia sitting upright in bed, her face as white as the sheets she was sitting on.

"I-I am bleeding," she said quietly, sounding close to tears.

"Don't worry, my doe. The baby might still be alright," said Maurice, trying to comfort her.

"No, no. The same thing happened to my mother when I was a little girl," whimpered Sofia, burying her heads in her hands. "Our baby is dead."

"What should we do?"

"There's nothing we can do anymore, Maurice," she said solemnly. "Please, just hold me. I am in great physical and emotional pain. I just want you to hold me."

Sofia passed the baby just a few hours later. It was a boy. She sobbed when she saw how small he was. She could hold his fragile little body in just one of her delicate hands. They named him Aubin, after Maurice's father. Sofia held him close to her for the rest of the night, before they buried him in their little garden the next morning. That day, for the first time in her life, she wore black instead of red.

It took Sofia five weeks to physically recover from her miscarriage, but she knew that she would never, ever be able to recover emotionally from the loss of her unborn son. Gone was the cheerful, optimistic, creative Sofia from before. She was an empty shell who could not even muster enough energy to get out of bed most mornings. She felt like a failure as a mother. She had killed her child before he was even born.

One morning in September, Maurice found Sofia in their baby's room. She knelt over the little cradle he had made for their unborn child. She stared into it blankly, and ran a finger over the dusty wooden sides.

"Sofia?"

Sofia did not acknowledge him. Her eyes remained fixed on the cradle.

"Sofia, we don't need a baby," he said softly. "Our marriage is perfect as it is. Not every couple has to have a child. Yes, it's tragic that we lost our son, but we need to look to the future."

"Please leave me alone, Maurice," she said quietly, closing her eyes to fight back tears. "I want to be alone."

She laid her head inside the cradle, and, losing all of her inhibitions, began to weep loudly.


	9. Leaf Green

**Chapter Nine**

_January 28__th__, 1742_

The fair was not a complete disaster, Maurice conceded as he was traveling home that afternoon. He may have placed dead last again, but at least his latest device, a large box that could solve complex mathematical problems instantaneously, had not accidentally broken the judge's legs, like one of his inventions had during the previous year's fair. Nor had it rolled away when he was not looking, and destroyed several of the other contestants' entries. Thankfully he had avoided repeating the incident that had occurred during the Bordeaux fair several years earlier, which he had been banned from ever since.

A surprisingly deep mud puddle coated his rickety old cart a shade of dark brown. Looking around, Maurice realized that he was close to his home town of Villemont. In fact, he was at the exact same spot that Prince Nicolas had picked him up eight years ago. Thoughts of visiting his old village entertained his mind for a few moments. Would it be too unreasonable to stop by to see his brother to relive old times? It would only take a few hours at the most. He had not seen Michel in eight years. Was he married now? Did he have children?

No, he decided. He had to get home to Sofia. She would be wondering where he was, and he hated leaving her alone for so long these days. It had been nigh on two years since her miscarriage, and Sofia became more and more depressed each day. She got up every morning, she ran her dance class, she cooked, cleaned, and did her exercises in the living room. She did all the same things she used to do, but she was just not the same Sofia as she was before. She just did not have the same energy, and had appeared to age ten years in just a few months. Sofia was merely an empty shell of her former self. Maurice was terrified that she would do something drastic sooner or later.

Maurice leaned back in his cart and stared up at the night sky. It was beginning to get dark. He could already see the faint outline of the moon in the sky. A few stars had appeared too. He desperately wanted to get home before Sofia went to bed, but, given the average speed of his tired old mare, Patrice, he had resigned himself to the knowledge that this was an impossible feat. Maurice yawned and closed his eyes. Surely a short nap wouldn't hurt.

"Help! Help! Someone please help me."

Maurice's eyes flew open. He sat upright. The voice was small and weak, but it was distinct, and Maurice had heard it clearly. Was it just his imagination?

"Help!"

Maurice quickly pulled on Patrice's reins. She stopped, and Maurice climbed out of the cart. He frantically looked around for the source of the voice. A little girl of perhaps five or six was lying by a tree, her face scrunched up in a look of intense pain. Her green dress had been torn in several places, and her hair was sprawled messily around her. She looked a lot like Maurice imagined Sofia looked like as a child, except for her eyes, which were green, rather like his. In fact, she could have passed for their daughter.

"Hello there," he greeted her gently.

"H-hello, sir."

"Where are your parents?"

"I don't know," the girl admitted tearfully. "Mama and I were walking in the forest and I got distracted playing in a puddle. Mama walked on without me. I couldn't see her anywhere. I climbed up a tree and called for her, but she didn't come back. I was about to climb down, but I missed one of the branches and fell, and now my foot hurts terribly."

"When did this happen?"

"A few hours ago."

"She couldn't have gone far. Maybe we can find her," Maurice said doubtfully.

"I can't walk. It hurts dreadfully when I do," whimpered the girl.

"I'll carry you to my cart and we'll go back to look for her," he promised.

Maurice desperately wanted to get home to Sofia, but he didn't want to leave this little girl alone in the forest. He heaved the girl, who weighed much more than she looked, into the cart before climbing in himself. How awful it was, he thought bitterly, that people like this girl's neglectful mother could so easily have a child, when Sofia, who would make a wonderful mother, struggled to become pregnant. It just wasn't fair.

He turned to the girl and began to ask where she lived, when he suddenly stopped mid-sentence. The girl was not there anymore. In her place was a tall, beautiful woman who seemed oddly familiar. Perhaps the most bizarre part of her appearance was that she seemed to be glowing. In fact, she was glowing so much that he could barely make out her face.

"You are very kind person, Maurice Desrosiers," she said in a low, powerful voice. "You helped a poor defenceless little girl in need when all you wanted to do was get home to your wife. You deserve to be rewarded."

"H-how do you know my name?" Maurice stammered. "Have we met before? Who are you?"

"I am an enchantress," she answered. "I know all about you. I will give you one thing as a reward for your good deeds. What do you desire most in the world?"

Maurice thought for a moment. What did he want? Though he was poor, he was sublimely happy. Sofia was the only thing he wanted and needed. Of course! Sofia!

"I want my wife to be happy," he told the enchantress. "She is worth more to me than all the gold in the world."

"What would make your wife happy? Wealth?"

Would Sofia be happier if they were rich and she could afford to buy everything she wanted? No, he thought. Sofia cared little for material goods. She had grown up wealthy and despised the lifestyle of the obscenely rich. His stomach dropped as he remembered Sofia crying painfully over their baby's empty cradle. Could this enchantress give them the child she longed for?

"My wife and I cannot have children," said Maurice nervously. "This doesn't bother me so much, but Sofia wants to be a mother more than anything in the world. Can you give us a child?"

The enchantress stared at him for a few long seconds. His heart beat furiously.

"Yes," she said finally. "There is a catch though."

"I don't care. I'll do anything to make Sofia happy."

"Are you sure?" asked the Enchantress.

"Yes."

"Very well. What would you like?"

"A baby."

"No, no," the enchantress said with an odd little giggle. "I mean would you like a boy or a girl or a-"

"Oh." Maurice considered this question for a few moments. "I am sure Sofia wouldn't mind either way, but I do recall her saying that she would prefer a little girl."

"You want a baby girl?"

"Yes."

"Very well," said the enchantress again. "Farewell, Maurice."

"Wait!" Maurice called quickly.

"Yes, boy?"

"What about the baby?" asked Maurice, feeling very stupid.

The enchantress laughed.

"I can't just make a baby out of thin air, boy. You will have to do some work yourself," she said, winking at him devilishly. Maurice blushed furiously. "I would expect it to be ready sometime around All Hallows Eve. That is only if you're quick though."

"Thank you so much for this. You have no idea how happy my wife will be."

The enchantress smiled at him and disappeared into the night, leaving Maurice alone in the dark.

* * *

Taking one last look at his sleeping daughters, Theseus Devin quietly tiptoed out of the room and closed the door carefully behind him. He chose a book from his bookcase, lit a candelabra, and sat down at his desk in the living room. Just as he began to immerse himself in the story, the door swung open and a glowing figure appeared in the doorway.

"Ariana?"

Theseus removed his spectacles and began to clean them with a thin silk handkerchief. Ariana Devin, his wife of fifty years, slammed the door shut and grinned wildly at her husband.

"Theseus, darling, remember that boy who used to live around here? The one who went off to Paris? Well I just met him in the-"

"Please do not be so loud. You'll wake the children," Theseus interrupted harshly. "You haven't been home in three weeks, Ariana. Where have you been?"

"Not far, Theseus, not far," she answered as she strode over to give him a kiss. "I went down to Perpignan, and I met this lovely old lady who-"

"I wake up to find you missing. You didn't even tell me you were leaving. Not even a note," Theseus interrupted again. "I didn't know where you were. What if the Nightshade Queen had captured you again?"

"Darling, the Nightshade Queen's been dead for over a century," laughed Ariana as she sat down on the settee. "I doubt that she will return anytime soon."

"Her minions are still around," Theseus pointed out in annoyance.

"Piffle! I am a big girl now, Theseus. I can do as I please."

"You are a grown woman and you have responsibilities."

"Yes, and I have a duty too."

"You can't keep doing this, Ariana. You are a mother now," said Theseus, massaging his temples. "I am tired of waking up to find my wife missing. When I pictured my retirement in my head, I envisioned a tiny cottage, a quiet bookshop, and a quaint little village. I never imagined that I would have three young daughters and an absentee wife as well. "

"I can't believe I haven't asked about the girls once since I got home!" said Ariana, with an horrified look on her face. "Where are the little darlings?"

"I just put them to bed," Theseus replied as he sat down on the settee next to his wife. He smiled slightly. "It was a bit of a struggle tonight. They have been particularly boisterous lately, but I just read them a bit of Hamlet and they went right off to sleep."

"Hamlet? Oh, Theseus, really?"

"What's wrong with Hamlet?"

"It's so violent!"

"They are three years old, Ariana. It's not like they understood what I was saying. They just like the sound of it, I suppose. Old Will always had a way with words."

"Goodness! Are they three already?" asked Ariana in surprise.

"You missed their birthday. It was last week."

"Last week? Oh dear, I am a bad mother! I'm going in to see them right now."

Before Theseus could stop her, Ariana stood up and ran to her daughters' room. By some miracle they did not wake up when she slammed the door shut. Three tiny girls, all dressed in a different colour nightgown, slept side by side in one small bed. Each one was completely identical to their golden haired, green eyed mother.

"They have grown so much!" Ariana moaned.

"That is what little girls tend to do," replied Theseus who had followed her.

"But it has only been a few weeks!" moaned Ariana. "How have they been?"

"Little Xanthia's got a cold, I'm afraid."

As if on cue, the little girl in the yellow nightgown sneezed very softly and rolled over. Ariana bent over her daughter's sleeping form and kissed her softly on the forehead, before kissing her other two daughters in turn.

"Poor little thing. She's been sick so much lately, hasn't she?" sighed Ariana. "It's not surprising though. She's always been the weakest of the three. Remember how scrawny she was as a baby? How are the others?"

"Phaedra is starting to learn to read already, and today I caught Acantha levitating one of her dolls," answered Theseus proudly.

"Already?" squealed Ariana in delight. "Our daughters are such clever little girls! I didn't levitate my dolls until I was six! I'm going to teach her how to turn water into goat's milk next. That was the first trick my mother taught me and I have always had a fondness for it. And little Phae is so intelligent! She reminds me of you."

"You remember what we agreed on, Ariana," said Theseus warningly. "We give them a normal life until they are twenty-one."

"But Theseus-"

"No, Ariana. They will live as regular little girls and enjoy a normal childhood."

Ariana gazed down at her slumbering daughters. They looked so angelic lying there together. How could she be so foolish? How could she think of leaving them all the time?

"You're right, Theseus," she said softly. "I have been spending too much time away. I need to be here for my daughters. From now on, I'm going to stay here and be a proper mother. The wrongdoers of the world can sort themselves out. My children need me."

* * *

Sofia jumped a foot from the ground when Maurice suddenly burst through the door. She had just been about to go to bed and had already changed into her nightgown.

"Maurice? You are home already?"

"Patrice ran faster than usual this evening," Maurice shrugged. "I guess she's just having a good day."

"Did you win?"

"Not exactly," replied Maurice cheerfully. "I did win something. Something much better than a trophy."

"What?" asked Sofia curiously.

"You'll find out in due time, my doe. Let's go to bed."

"Wait! I have something important to tell you," she sighed. "I have been thinking, Maurice. We really ought to clean out that room we made for the baby. We are never going to have one. I have finally learned to accept that. Like you said, we need to get on with our lives."

"Sofia, I think things may finally be looking up for us," said Maurice, grinning from ear to ear.

"But-"

"Come on, let's go to bed."

Sofia was utterly bewildered by her husband's mysterious good mood, but allowed Maurice to take her hand and lead her to the bedroom.

For weeks Maurice wondered if the encounter he had with the Enchantress had been a dream. Had he been so tired from his journey that he simply imagined the whole thing? But it had been so real! However, his suspicions were put aside one warm April morning when Sofia came down to breakfast. Her face turned as green as a swamp as she stared down distastefully at her bowl of porridge.

"Something wrong, my doe?" asked Maurice concernedly.

"I-I don't know," Sofia admitted. "I feel rather ill. I've been feeling ill all week, in fact. I don't know what's wrong with me. I think I might be- No, no. I couldn't be."

"Would you like me to get a doctor?"

"Don't be silly, dolce. We can't afford it," she sighed. "I am going back to bed. Hopefully I'll feel better later."

Sofia stood and walked slowly back to the bedroom. Maurice smiled knowingly to himself.


	10. Lust

**Chapter Ten**

_19th of February, 1742_

"I cannot believe he is three already," said Aurelia with a somewhat wistful tone in her voice.

"Indeed. Happy birthday, son," Renaud boomed, his chest puffed out with pride.

It was the small prince's birthday. Maggie Potts had taken her young charge up to meet his parents in the fourth floor drawing room. Renaud and Aurelia beamed down at the little prince. They did not see their son very often. It was not that they did not want to spend time with the boy, but they just did not have time for it. Now that Renaud had taken over his father's role as the provincial prince regnant of Nivernais, both he and Aurelia were often too busy meeting with officials and attending various royal balls and parties to spend time with their child.

Clutching his nurse's hand tightly, the young prince stared up at his mother and father, a terrified look in his blue eyes. He gripped Mrs Potts' hand tighter and whimpered in fear. Mrs Potts had raised the prince since his birth, and she was the only parental figure in his life for the most part. To him, his real parents were complete strangers. On rare occasions his father would visit him just before he went to bed, and sometimes his mother would have a picnic with him and Mrs Potts in the rose garden, but other than that he had little contact with his parents.

"Christophe, come over here and give Mama a hug," said Aurelia softly as she bent down so that she was at her three year old son's level. She smiled warmly at him. The small boy shrank back in fear.

"Go on, Adam," urged Mrs Potts gently. "Give your mother a hug."

The prince relinquished the grip he had on his nanny's hand and moved forward so that he was face to face with his mother. His bottom lip trembled slightly. Aurelia lifted her arms and wrapped her son into a tight embrace. He whimpered slightly and she kissed him on the top of his head. Unfortunately, just as her lips hit his silky reddish blonde hair, the tiny boy burst into tears. Aurelia let go of him immediately, bewildered by her son's outburst. The prince quickly ran behind Mrs Potts' leg, tears still streaming from his soft blue eyes.

"I am sorry. He just isn't used to you," explained Mrs Potts apologetically, giving the prince a comforting pat on the head. "And the poor mite is probably a tad bit confused. You see, I usually call him Adam. He is not used to being called any other name."

"I see," mumbled Aurelia sadly, sounding close to tears. She had been so ill after her son's birth that she had not been able to properly bond with him as a newborn.

"You just need to spend more time with him," the older woman told her. "Then you won't seem so strange to him."

"But I am his mother!" Aurelia wailed. "I gave birth to him! I should not be a stranger to my own son."

"It is only because he isn't used to you," Mrs Potts reminded her gently. "Come down to his nursery and play with him sometime. He'll warm up to you in time, don't worry. And we must decide on what we should all call him. He's three years old and he doesn't have a proper name. The poor little baby gets so confused with all of the things that he is called."

"Yes," replied Aurelia quietly. She was still in shock from her son's outburst. "What do you suggest?"

"Well, he is used to me calling him Adam all the time. Why don't we refer to him by that name from now on? It is easier that way."

"Yes, you are right. It is easier that way," Aurelia murmured, a twinge of sadness in her voice. She preferred the name Christophe for her son. It reminded her of her father somewhat, but she did not have the energy to argue for it.

"Should we give Nic-I mean Adam- his gifts?" asked Renaud who had been watching the exchange awkwardly.

The prince peeked out from behind Mrs Potts. He did not understand why he was referred to by so many different names, nor was he entirely sure just who his parents were, but he did understand the word "gift".

"Josette is bringing them down now," replied Aurelia.

The heavy doors swung open and Josette entered the room, her arms laden with gifts for the young prince. She settled them down before Aurelia, and moved to the back of the room, carefully trying to not to make eye contact with her former lover. She normally liked to maintain as much distance as possible from Renaud.

"Look, darling," Aurelia said to her son who was still hiding behind Mrs Potts' leg. "Presents for you! Look, there's one Grandpere sent you from Denmark. And here is one from your Uncle Anselm."

Adam hesitantly came out of hiding and slowly walked towards his mother and the pile of gifts. He smiled for the first time that day and took the nicely wrapped present his mother was holding. The prince began to tear open the present eagerly, shreds of brightly coloured wrapping paper falling to the floor. Aurelia smiled.

"Say thank you, Adam," reprimanded Mrs Potts gently.

"Thank you," the prince said with a slight lisp, not looking at either of his parents as he spoke.

Josette giggled slightly before she caught Renaud's eye. He began to approach her. Josette panicked.

"I have to go," she said hurriedly. Renaud stopped and looked to the floor.

"So soon? Are you sure?" asked Aurelia from the ground where she was clearing up the mess made by her son.

"Of course, of course," said Josette, chuckling nervously. "A lot of work to be done, you know. Those floors aren't going to mop themselves."

"Can't you get someone else to do it," asked Renaud, raising an eyebrow.

"No, no. I like it," Josette lied. "It is wonderful exercise. I need it. I'm cooped up in this castle all day, after all. Good bye."

The maid pulled the door shut behind her and began to make her way down the hall. She breathed a sigh of relief and congratulated herself on managing to get out of that awkward situation so quickly. She heard a voice call her name just as she reached the stairs. Her sister came running up to her moments later.

"Jo, have you seen the new maître d'?" Babette asked breathlessly.

"The one who replaced poor old Poulin? I can't say that I have met him personally, but I have heard stories. He's quite the Lothario from what I can tell."

"He's the most charming man I've ever met. He told me that my eyes were browner and more delicious than the richest chocolate soufflé," sighed her sister dreamily.

"Right, well, I'm not really interested in him or any man at the moment. Now if you'll excuse me-"

"Oh, Josette. You should come down and meet him. You need to move on and forget Renaud."

"I wish I could," Josette sighed. "But it is just not that easy. Renaud is the only man I have ever loved, both emotionally and physically. As much as I want to, I can't just forget him and move on."

* * *

Lumiere, the Nivernais castle's new maître d'hôtel, spent his first night in the castle alone. This was quite unusual for him. At his old household in Paris, he had been worshipped by the majority of the female staff. Not because of his appearance, however. Even Lumiere himself had to admit that, with his gangly physique, long nose, and distinct lack of chin, he was not the most handsome man in the world, but because of his charm and personality. He was accustomed to waking up next to a beautiful woman or two, but he was tired from his journey and desired to rest more than anything else.

When he woke up on the morning of his third day in the castle, he was pleased to see that he was lying next to a beautiful woman with short, curly golden hair. He had forgotten her name, her job, and even what they had done the previous night, and, judging from the look she gave him when she eventually woke up, she could not recall the experience either.

He spent the third evening with another blonde woman whose name he could never forget. This was primarily because she would scream her own name when she reached the peak of her physical satisfaction. Lumiere was too much of a gentleman to ask her why as they were cuddling in bed after the deed had been done.

The fourth night, he was kept company by two red-haired kitchen maids. Spirited, energetic young things that Lumiere, who was approaching thirty years of age, could scarcely keep up with them. Still, Lumiere liked a challenge, and by the end of the night all three parties were exhausted.

The two maids were gone by the time he woke up on the morning of the fifth day. He got up, dressed, and began to get on with his duties. A dark-haired woman with generous curves and intoxicatingly beautiful brown eyes passed him the hallway on his way to the kitchens. Lumiere halted, turned, and stared back at her.

"Hi Lumiere! Hi! What're you looking at?" Peter, the perky sous chef, bounded up to him.

"Who is that bosomy goddess?" he breathed.

"Who? Oh, that's Josette. She's the daughter of the royal family's tutor," Peter told him. "She's been working here as a maid since she was fourteen."

"She will be mine."

"Josette? She's gorgeous, but no one has a chance with her. She's still hung up on-"

Lumiere had stopped listening by this point. He had already begun formulating his plan of attack. This beautiful woman would be his, for one night at least.

* * *

It was late at night. Josette did not know how late it was exactly, but she supposed that she must be one of the few inhabitants of the castle still awake. As she wiped down the dining room table down for a fifth time, she heard a sound coming from the kitchen. It sounded like a man singing. Placing her cloth down on the table, she went to investigate. The owner of the voice stopped and turned around when he heard the kitchen door open. He looked delighted when he saw Josette. He swaggered up to her.

"You are the new maître d', aren't you?" asked Josette.

"_Oui, je m'appelle Lumiere_." Lumiere kissed her hand chivalrously.

"You sing beautifully."

"And you are just plain beautiful," Lumiere told her, taking both of her hands in his. "Your eyes! They are browner and more delicious than the richest chocolate souffle."

"You said that to my sister, didn't you?"

"Your sister?" asked Lumiere in alarm. "Is she a blonde? Redhead?"

"No, she has dark hair like mine, but shorter."

Lumiere breathed a sigh of relief. Josette looked at him curiously.

"Wine?" He picked up a bottle that was sitting on a bench beside him.

Josette regarded the bottle in Lumiere's hands with suspicion.

"What are you up to?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I am new here," Lumiere replied in a defensive tone." I am only trying to make a friend. I do not know anyone in this castle."

"Oh, really? You've been getting to know several of the other maids quite well from what I've heard."

"Wine?" he offered again, holding out the bottle to her.

"I can't. I have work to do."

"It's ten o'clock in the evening," Lumiere pointed out.

"Fine," sighed Josette. "Just one glass, though."

They went back into the dining room, bringing the wine with them.

"So, my new friend, tell me about yourself," Lumiere said, settling down in the seat next to Josette and pouring them both a glass of wine.

"What do you want to know?"

"How did you become a maid?"

"I was born in the castle. I have never even left the grounds," said Josette, taking a sip of wine. "My parents were both servants. Papa is the royal tutor, and he taught me to read and write and count. My mother died of a fever a few days after Babette's birth. I was seven years old and it was up to me to look after her as Papa had to work. It was hard and I didn't have time to play much, but I do not resent her for it. It made me grow up fast and it made me stronger as a person. What about you?"

"I was born in Rouen," Lumiere told her, pouring himself a second glass of wine. "My father was a chef, and my mother was a musician."

"A musician?" Josette asked. "What sort of music?"

"She could sing and play the piano," Lumiere replied. "Not for money of course, but she was quite good at it. Her father taught her, and he was a brilliant composer. My own father instilled a passion for food in me, and Maman nurtured my love of music. My five older sisters taught me to how to treat and respect women."

"And how did you end up here?"

"I got a job working in a wealthy household in Paris when I was eighteen. I stayed there for ten years, and then I moved here. There is not much else to my story."

* * *

Josette slowly opened her eyes and sat up in bed. She looked around blearily. It took her a few moments to realize that she was not in her own room. It took her even longer to notice that she was not the only one occupying the bed that she was lying in. She looked over at the lump in her bed regretfully. She bit her lip and slowly began to turn back the covers.

"Good morning, cherie."

Lumiere sat up and grinned at her. Josette's jaw dropped.

"Did we… uh…"

Lumiere winked at her. Josette groaned and buried her face in her hands.

"No, no, no. I couldn't have," she moaned. "I don't remember it. I don't remember anything."

"You did drink an awful lot off wine last night, cherie," Lumiere pointed out.

"Stop calling me that," snapped Josette in an uncharacteristic manner. "I am sorry, but my name is Josette. It is one of the only things that my mother gave to me before she died. Call me by my real name. Speaking of which, what is your name?"

"Lumiere."

"No, I mean what is your full name? Is Lumiere your first or last name?"

"It is my surname."

"What is your first name then?"

"That does not matter. Just call me Lumiere."

"No, tell me what your full name is. Unlike several other girls in this castle I could name, I like to know the name of any man that I have intercourse with."

"How many men have you been with?"

"Just two," answered Josette. "You and- Never mind that. You still haven't told me your first name."

Lumiere winced and took a deep breath.

"My full name is Marie Seraphin Lumiere," he admitted finally.

Josette honestly tried not to laugh. She tried as hard as she could, in fact. But, after a few seconds, she could not hold it in much longer.

"Marie!" she cried between guffaws. "Your name is Marie Lumiere?"

"There's nothing wrong with it," he muttered.

"It's a girl's name!"

"It can be man's name too! It was the name of my father. He was a great man and I am very proud to share it with him," said Lumiere defensively.

"That doesn't change the fact that it's a woman's name. I mean, I have two aunts named Marie for goodness' sake."

"I am a man, and my father was a man, so it is also a man's name. You know just how much of a man I am," he said with an eyebrow waggle.

"Right, well. I have work to do so if you'll excuse me."

Josette got out of bed and started to search around Lumiere's room for her clothing.

"Last night was fun, Marie," she told him as she picked up a shoe from the floor. "At least, I would suppose it was. I don't remember any of it."

"Look, I will call you by your first name as long as you don't call me by mine. Do we have an agreement?"

"Fine," she agreed. "I have to go now, though."

"Are you sure you do not want to stay for another course?" Lumiere gestured to the lower part of his body as he spoke. He winked at her suggestively. Josette groaned.

"Last night was an accident. I'm not going to stay here and become one of your strumpets that you sleep with once and discard the next day. How do I know you didn't force me to come to bed with you?"

"I would never do that! And I don't use and discard women either," Lumiere retorted, aghast. "And I do not sleep with strumpets. I treat women like they deserve to be treated. With respect. That is the secret to my success with them. So many men take, but they do not give. I make women feel special. Didn't you feel special when I made love to you?"

"How very modest of you. I don't remember last night so I wouldn't know, but I can't say that I feel particularly special now."

"Then I have failed in my duty," he said solemnly. "Never mind, we can have another go at it some other time. How about tonight?"

"I am sorry. I-I cannot be in an intimate relationship with anyone right now," Josette stammered. "I mean, I can, but I'm not ready for one."

"Oh, no. I am not looking for a committed relationship, though any man would be insanely lucky to be in one with you. No, all I want is a few nights of mutual pleasure."

"Well, I don't want that either," replied Josette, pulling on her dress. "I just want to be alone."

"Is there someone else? Another man you are interested in?"

Lumiere certainly did not expect Josette to drop her clothes, double over as if she were in pain and start to sob.

"Yes," she cried. "I love him so much, but I can't be with him without hurting one of my friends. I want to forget Renaud. I really, really do, but I can't. He was my first and only love. When I close my eyes I can still recall every second of the first time we made love when we were fourteen. I can still feel the touch of his lips on mine. I don't think I will ever be able to love anyone else in the same way that I love Renaud. I can either marry a man I don't love or remain a lonely servant for the rest of my life. I'm twenty-eight years old and getting older by the day. My life is slipping away before my eyes. I have no future."

"Renaud?" repeated Lumiere in shock. "Your mystery man is the prince?"

"Yes," confirmed Josette as she wiped away tears. "I know it is foolish to be in love with a man I can never be with, but I can't help it."

"No, it isn't foolish. I understand completely," Lumiere told her seriously. "I never told you the full version of my story, did I?"

"No," Josette said curiously. "You didn't."

"I was very popular with the women at my old household. I was far from the most physically attractive man working there, but women loved me because I knew how to treat them. There was one girl there, however. She was different from the rest. She was my Master's niece. She was gorgeous, easily one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. She looked quite a bit like you, actually. The attraction wasn't merely physical, however. She was intelligent, witty, and kindhearted. She was the first woman I ever truly loved. I couldn't marry her, of course. I never even dreamed that I could. She was a wealthy noblewoman, and I was a mere kitchen hand. Despite knowing that we could never truly be together, we continued our affair until she got married last month. It was an arranged married. She told me that we could still be together, but I couldn't handle seeing her married to another man. That's the real reason I left."

"That is exactly what happened to me," Josette said, warming up to him. "When Renaud got married, he told me that nothing would change. That our relationship would be the same as it ever was. I couldn't bear being "the other woman" though. So I broke it off."

Lumiere and Josette smiled at each other.

"Thank you for telling me this. I do have to go now, though. Good bye… Marie."

Josette managed to get to the door before she burst into laughter again. Lumiere lay in bed listening to raucous laughter slowly drown out as she drifted further and further down the hall. Just as he began to think it was all over, he heard a second female voice shriek "Marie!" and a dozen high pitched cackles accompany it. Lumiere groaned and rolled over. No matter how hard he tried, he was never going to live this down.

* * *

_Chapter ten yay! We're a tenth of the way through this part of the story. _

_I am sorry about this chapter. I cannot judge my own work fairly, but I had to force myself to write it, which is not a good sign._

_The good news is that the next chapter is short and will be probably be out soon. Chapter 12, however, may well be the longest, fluffiest, disgustingly sweetest chapter in this entire story. I hope, for your sakes, that you like baby Belle._


	11. Viridian

**Chapter Eleven**

_October 31st, 1742_

"Get up, boy! Get up!"

Gaston ignored his father's yell. He rolled over and pulled the pillow over his head. The boy lay there for a few moments in the darkness, with his eyes closed, trying to preserve the few brief moments of serenity that he had.

"It's too early," he muttered.

"I told you to get up," roared his father. "We're going hunting."

The nine year old boy groaned and pulled back his blankets. As he walked over to his wardrobe he glanced over at the window. The sky was still pitch black.

"What time is it?" he asked as he pulled on the first shirt he could find.

"Three," his father answered. "We're already behind schedule thanks to you. Hurry up and get ready or I'm leaving without you."

Gerald, who liked to get as much out of his day as possible, preferred to start hunting as early as possible. He often began his day at three or four in the morning, bringing his son along with him.

Gaston pulled on his hunting boots and followed his father out into the living room. Gerald lit a lantern, and took a gun from the rack and handed it to his son. When he was younger, Gaston would have been ecstatic to receive a gun from his father. Now it seemed so childish to be excited over something as simple and trivial as a blunderbuss.

Gaston followed his father out the door and through the forest. They stepped over the puddle that Gaston had found his older brother lying in four years previously. He stopped and looked back at it for a moment, his eyes lingering on the exact spot where his head had laid.

"Come on, boy. Don't dawdle."

Gerald knew why Gaston had stopped. He wished that his son would forget about his older brother. Gregoire was a weakling, like his mother, who had died a few months after her eldest son's death when Gerald had thrown her across the room after she had made the mistake of mentioning their dead son. He had only meant to punish her for disobeying his order. He had told her to never mention their son's name again. She was foolish and did not listen. He had certainly not intended to kill her. But it was not his fault that she was weak and could not handle it. He was worried that Gaston would turn out like his mother and brother. Gerald had promised himself that would not happen. Gerald was not going to make a mistake with his second son.

"Gaston! Get over here! I found somethin'."

Gaston quickly hurried over to his father. Gerald raised the lantern and pointed. A doe was sleeping up against a tree. It lay slightly on its side and, by the way its stomach bulged out slightly, Gaston realized it was pregnant.

"Kill it, Gaston," Gerald ordered firmly.

The boy dutifully raised his gun, pointed it at the slumbering doe, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Sofia woke up with a start. She slowly sat up in bed and, with her aching back resting against her pillow, began to take deep, heavy breaths. Sweat was running down her face. It was an unusually hot night for the end of October. Both her and her bedding were completely soaked in her own perspiration. She lit a candle and looked over at her husband, who was fast asleep, seemingly untroubled by the heat. Sofia took another deep breath and heaved herself out of bed. She slowly walked to the window, her legs wobbling precariously. She slid it open, and allowed herself to bask in the cool gentle breeze.

"Sofia?" asked Maurice, who had been awoken by the sound of Sofia opening the window. "Why are you awake? What's wrong? Did the baby kick too hard again?"

"No, I haven't felt it in a while," she told him, fingering her stomach which was protruding from her white nightgown. "It is probably sleeping. I hope it is sleeping."

"Hopefully," agreed Maurice solemnly.

"I had that dream again," Sofia told him. "The same one I've been having since February. I'm walking through a forest, holding my baby. Suddenly, it starts to rain. It is only a light drizzle at first. I believe I can take it. But then the rain gets heavier. It starts to storm. I can hear thunder and lightning coming from above me. I clutch the baby to my chest and look desperately around for shelter. In the distance I see a castle."

"A castle in the middle of a forest?" asked Maurice incredulously.

"It's just a dream, Maurice," replied Sofia, annoyed. "Anyway, I rush into the castle and check to see if my baby is alright. I hear a road, and I turn around and see this horrible monster. He's ten feet tall, with ferocious fangs and giant horns coming out of the top of his head. I'll never forget what he looks like. He snatches my baby from me, only now it isn't a baby. She-and it is always a girl- has grown into a beautiful young woman. He takes one of his enormous claws and stabs it through her chest. He throws her down onto floor, blood spurting from her chest, and then he turns towards me. That's usually when I wake up."

"It is only a dream," Maurice told her soothingly.

"I know, but it seems so real," Sofia sighed. "It is foolish of me to worry about it, but it just disturbs me so much."

"It is only five o'clock," said Maurice, glancing at the clock sitting by the candle on his bedside table. "Get back into bed."

"It's completely soaked. I've been sweating a lot lately"

"You can sleep on my side. I don't mind," Maurice offered, quickly moving over so that Sofia could lie in his place.

Sofia waddled over and manoeuvred her way into the bed. She gave Maurice a grateful kiss on the head.

"You need to rest." Maurice reached out and touched her stomach gently. "Our little girl will be here soon."

Sofia narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

"Why do you seem so certain that it's a girl, Maurice?"

"A father's intuition," he told her with a nervous laugh. "And it was a girl in your dream, remember. You said you wanted a daughter."

"You're right, I did," said Sofia softly, looking down at her distended stomach. "But now I… Well, never mind that. She- or he- is on their way now and there is nothing we can do about it."

"What do you mean?" asked Maurice, frowning. "I thought you wanted a baby!"

"I did." Sofia sighed. "I mean, I do. It is complicated. When I found out about this baby, I had only just accepted the fact that I would never be a mother. For the first few months I refused to believe that I was pregnant. I had convinced myself that I was merely dying. Even when I began getting bigger and there was no way I could hide it from myself any longer, I was still a little hesitant to accept that I was going to have a baby. Even now I feel uncomfortable about it. I think I am just scared of getting too attached to this baby. I don't feel the same bond I had with the other one. I'm worried that I am going to lose it, or that something or someone will take it from me. I'm terrified that I will wake up one day and discover that it-the baby-was all a dream. The loss of our first child was incredibly painful for me. I can still feel his tiny frail body in my hands. I don't think I'll be able to take that kind of heartbreak again."

"Don't worry," Maurice told her. "Nothing will go wrong this time."

"I suppose you are right, dolce," sighed Sofia. "I am just being foolish."

"That's it," said Maurice encouragingly. "Now come on. You look tired. Go back to sleep. Our baby will be here before you know it."

Just as Sofia laid her head down on her pillow, she felt the baby move inside of her.

"The baby's awake now," she muttered drowsily.

Maurice, who had fallen back to sleep as soon as his head hit his own pillow, did not respond. Unable to sleep, Sofia stared out the window and watched the sun rise over the houses of her neighbours. As the sunlight streamed into her room and bathed her face in a light golden glow, she felt a slight tickle in the middle of her abdomen. Suddenly, she was hit with most the awful stomach pains she had ever felt in her life. The pains she felt during her monthly bleeding were nothing compared to this. It was as though someone had taken hold of her insides and had squeezed them as hard as they could.

"Maurice," she said as loudly as she could muster, hitting her husband on the arm to wake him up. "I think she's on her way now."


	12. French Rose

**Chapter Twelve**

_October 31st, 1742_

At six o'clock that morning, Maurice rushed out of his own house and towards the home of Madame Belrose, a midwife who lived down the street. The old Madame was annoyed that she had been woken so early, but after Maurice frantically explained that Sofia was about to give birth, she grabbed her bag and quickly followed Maurice down the street. On his way back, Madame Bisette came running out of her house and irritably asked Maurice why he was making so much noise so early in the morning. Upon hearing that Sofia was in labour, she insisted upon coming along with them. She had a lot of experience with the birthing process after all, having given birth to nine children of her own.

At fifteen minutes past seven, the two women barred themselves inside the bedroom with Sofia, ignoring the protests of Maurice who had wanted to stay with his wife to support her and witness the birth of their child. The women, however, insisted that childbirth was purely "women's business", and that men-even the father of the child in question-should not be allowed into the birthing chamber. Both women wished to spare Maurice the agony of seeing his beloved wife in such tremendous pain. Accepting defeat, Maurice made breakfast, and settled himself down in front of the portrait of Sofia's mother, nervously waiting for his child to be brought into the world.

"Isn't this exciting?" he said to the painting. "You're going to be a grandmother!"

Maurice spent the next hour absent-mindedly skimming a book about Eastern European dances that Sofia had bought from the bookshop a few blocks away. At nine o'clock, he heard Sofia cry out in pain. A horrible thought struck Maurice's mind. What if childbirth was too much for Sofia to handle? She was very slender, and her hips were absurdly narrow. What if the baby became trapped between them? What if the pain became too unbearable? What if Sofia caught puerperal fever like poor Madame Dupré across the street? He would never be able to forgive himself if any of that happened. He was the one who had asked the enchantress for a baby, after all. He had only wanted Sofia to be happy. He hated to think that he might be responsible for her death.

No, he told himself. That was a ridiculous thought. Sofia was tiny, it was true, but she was a trained ballet dancer. She was incredibly strong, though she did not look it, and had impeccable stamina. Maurice had once witnessed her run five blocks and swim half a mile up the Seine to save a drowning child, all without stopping once. He was sure that giving birth would easy for her. Still, she was quite slender…

But what about the baby? It was quite common for infants to die before they could even take their first breaths. He did not think that Sofia would be able to take the pain and heartbreak of losing another child. But the enchantress had promised him a baby! Surely she would not let that happen.

On the other hand, the enchantress had told him that there was a catch. Why had he not asked her what that catch was when he had the chance? How could he have been so stupid? Sofia was going to die now and it was all thanks to his idiocy.

Sofia's screams became louder and more frequent as time wore on. Madame Bisette would often emerge from the bedroom and ask Maurice to fetch them some food. Maurice, too nervous to eat, chose to forgo lunch and dinner himself.

Eventually Maurice's nerves grew so bad that he could barely contain himself. He began to pace around his house, wringing his hands, and glancing at the clock every few seconds. Fifteen minutes before midnight, the unmistakable cry of a newborn infant filled the creaky old house. Maurice relaxed slightly. At least the baby was fine.

At half past twelve, Madame Bisette came out of the bedroom wearing an enormous grin on her face. Maurice almost tripped over himself as he ran up to her.

"How are they?" he asked breathlessly.

"The baby? A healthy little girl with rosy cheeks, a head full of brown hair, and her mother's beautiful eyes. Simply a gorgeous little thing."

"I've been a midwife for thirty-five years, but never have I seen a baby quite as lovely as her," agreed Madame Belrose who had followed Madame Bisette out of the bedroom.

"And my wife?" Maurice stammered, preparing himself for the worst.

"Sofia is fine now, though the birth was very difficult for her. We thought we had lost her at one point. She has such narrow hips, you know. I am surprised that we managed to get the baby out intact. It is a miracle that they both survived."

"But they are both fine now?" Maurice asked, relieved. He sighed deeply as he felt his heartbeat slow down.

"The baby is doing wonderfully, and her mother is making an extraordinarily quick recovery."

"Can I see them?"

"We're still cleaning them up. Just wait a few more moments."

Maurice sat back down in front of Jeanne's portrait. In that moment, he felt like the most fortunate man in all of France, and, for the first time in his life, he felt proud of himself. He could not give Sofia the money or riches that he felt that she deserved, but he had given her a child, which is all that she really wanted anyway. The only thing that he wanted to do now was meet the enchantress once more. Not for another wish, of course. He had everything that he could ever desire. No, he wanted to thank her for the joy that she had given Sofia and himself.

* * *

It took quite a while for Sofia to process that the little pink and brown thing lying on her chest was her daughter. The very same daughter that she had spent years pining for. She had dreamed of having a little girl that she could braid the hair of, teach to dance, and dress up in pretty dresses. And now she finally had her, but something just did not seem to feel right.

Sofia could not understand it, but this baby-this tiny, warm, soft, pink bundle of flesh that was staring up at her with inquisitive hazel eyes- just did not feel like her daughter. Not the one she had longed for anyway. It was not that Sofia was not happy. She was ecstatic to finally be a mother, and she loved her new baby girl, but something was not right.

The door creaked, and Sofia looked up to see Maurice standing in the doorway, looking at them with a small smile on his face. Then, without any warning, Maurice fell to the floor and started to weep.

"W-what's wrong?" asked Sofia, startled at her husband's sudden outburst.

"Seeing you and the baby together – It's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," he explained, wiping away a tear. "I'm just so happy that we have our little girl now."

Sofia smiled weakly at him.

"Come over here and look at her," she said weakly, sitting up and carefully positioning her daughter in her arms.

Maurice walked over timidly and sat on the bed next to Sofia. The infant stared up at her parents, squinting at them through docile hazel-brown eyes. Her skin was a pale white, like fresh cream, and her cheeks were flushed with a rosy pink glow. A little tuft of brown hair sprouted out the top of her little head. Her tiny hand reached up, curled around a lock of Sofia's long golden hair, and tugged at it. Sofia winced in pain and quickly pulled her hair away.

"I think I am going to have to keep my hair tied up from now on," she said, frowning slightly.

"She looks just like you," Maurice told her, beaming down at his young daughter. "The same eyes, the same complexion, the same cute little nose."

"All babies have cute little noses."

"Hers is especially cute."

The baby shifted in Sofia's arms and began to whimper in a distressed tone.

"What's wrong with her?" asked Maurice in alarm.

"She looks cold. Can you get a blanket for her? They are in her room."

Maurice stood up and left, leaving Sofia and the baby alone. The infant reached out and grasped Sofia's fingertip. Sofia smiled down at her. Maurice reappeared in the room carrying a pale blue blanket that Sofia had knitted during her pregnancy. Sofia carefully swaddled her daughter and laid the baby in her arms.

"She needs a name," Maurice told her, gesturing to their daughter.

"I thought we discussed this. We are naming her after your mother."

"No."

"What do you suggest then?"

Maurice thought for a moment.

"Clarisse?" he suggested.

"Ugh!" Sofia looked disgusted. "No, no, definitely not!"

"Why? What's wrong with it?

"There was a girl in my old ballet company called Clarisse," Sofia explained with a grimace. "She slept with my fiancé. Of course they both denied it, but I could tell."

"I see," said Maurice, frowning. "Desiree?"

"Desiree Desrosiers?" asked Sofia incredulously. "Do you want our daughter to grow up to be a strumpet?"

"Amelie? Madeleine?

"Too common," answered Sofia. "Madame Colbert has a little Amelie, as does Madame Stefan and Madame Boucher. And there are three little girls in my ballet class named Madeleine, not to mention the two Madelines."

"Why don't we just name her after your mother and be done with it?" asked Maurice irritably, burying his face in his hands.

The baby extended her little arms towards Sofia's face. Sofia quickly moved her hair away from her daughter's reach.

"I do want to," she said "But I can't think of any middle name that goes with it, meanwhile Jeanne itself would make an excellent middle name."

"We don't have to give her any middle names," replied Maurice.

"You're right, but I think that middle names make you sound classier. I don't have any and I feel so boring."

"You could never be boring," Maurice insisted. "And she is just a little baby. She doesn't need to sound classy. She is only three hours old."

"She's going to get bigger, Maurice. What if she grows up to marry a duke or a prince? Think of how awful we'll look in front of all her royal in-laws when the priest says her full name at her wedding."

"Sofia, that's very unlikely to happen," said Maurice, staring at his wife bemusedly. What had pregnancy done to her? She was usually the more sensible of the two.

"You never know! Now look, I know you don't like the idea of naming her after your mother, so we won't. Isabelle is too much of a mouthful anyway. We'll name her Belle instead. It's not exactly like your mother's name, but it has the same meaning. Belle Jeanne Desrosiers. No, that sounds a little bland. I'll add in my old nanny's name too. She was like a mother to me, especially after my real one died. Belle Jeanne Salvatrice Desrosiers. No, no, that still sounds wrong. Belle Salvatrice Jeanne Desrosiers. That sounds better. Perfect, don't you think so, dolce?"

Maurice pursed his lips and made a disapproving noise.

"Now what?" Sofia snapped angrily.

"She is beautiful, of course, but actually naming her Belle seems a little… tacky," he admitted, bracing himself for Sofia's reaction.

"You don't like anything I like!" she accused furiously. The baby squeaked in distress.

"Come on," soothed Maurice carefully, quickly looking at the clock. "It's four o'clock. You've had a busy day today. Both you and our nameless little girl need to rest."

"She has a name," Sofia insisted sleepily, but she was too tired to argue any longer. She yawned and laid her head down on her pillow, sleep coming to her instantly.

Maurice carefully took his daughter from her sleeping mother's arms. Slowly, and with extreme care, he carried the infant to the room they had prepared for her. It was the same one they had made up for her brother several years earlier and, for the most part, it was still the same. He placed her in the cradle, and drew the curtains so that she would not be woken by the morning sun. He gazed down at her adoringly, admiring her tiny hands and plump little legs. He moved his gaze up to her face and found Sofia's eyes looking up at him imploringly.

"Your mother is right," he told her, stroking her brown hair lovingly. "Belle is the perfect name for you. After all, beauty is in creation, and, you are our creation, though, admittedly, we did have a little bit of help, but I think she's better off not knowing that, so we'll keep that part a secret from her."

Maurice beamed down at his daughter. She stared back up at him, her little eyes brimming with curiosity. Carefully, he rewrapped her blankets, and slid a tiny knitted cap on her head to keep her warm.

"Good night, little Belle."

Maurice leaned down and planted a kiss on her forehead. After blowing out the candle that was sitting by the cradle, he crept out and quietly closed the door of the nursery, leaving baby Belle lying alone in complete darkness. The tiny girl snuggled against her blankets, her little eyelids closing over her tired hazel eyes, and began to drift off to sleep, blissfully unaware of the world outside of her cradle.


	13. Magenta

**Chapter Thirteen**

_November 8__th__, 1742_

Sofia rubbed her temples and leaned against the door of her eight day old daughter's bedroom. Maurice and Sofia's formerly quiet little house was now filled with the deafening sound of their baby daughter's crying. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door. Belle lay in her little cradle just underneath the windowsill, screaming louder than Sofia thought was possible. Her face was scrunched up like a bulldog and was coloured a deep tomato red. Sofia had managed to get her to sleep just an hour ago, after what had felt like days of non-stop screaming and crying. Relieved, Sofia had gone back to her own bedroom to take a nap, but, barely half an hour later, she was jolted awake by a long, loud piercing cry. Sofia picked the tiny girl up and began to gently rock her in her arms. Belle just cried even louder.

"Stop crying," Sofia pleaded. "Mama's tired and wants to go to sleep."

The pregnancy had been painful and difficult for Sofia. Every kick felt like a thousand knives were stabbing her in the stomach. For the first few months she was often so sick that she could not even get out of bed. She hadn't had these kinds of difficulties with her first pregnancy. The agonizing and exhausting birth was even worse. She knew that childbirth was painful, but the pain she felt seemed unnatural. At one point, just minutes before Belle came into the world, she felt her own life slipping away. However, she had made a miraculously fast recovery. Within days of the birth, her body had completely healed up, and her figure was slimmer than it had ever been. But then the real troubles set in. Motherhood was not at all like what she had expected. Belle was not the happy, pink-faced little baby she had dreamed about. All she did was cry, eat, and, if Sofia was lucky, sleep.

"What is wrong with you?" Sofia groaned. "I don't understand! Are you hungry?"

She'd had so little sleep in past week that she had completely lost track of time. She didn't even know how long it had been since she had fed Belle. The poor thing probably was hungry. Carefully balancing the baby in one arm, Sofia quickly loosened her dress. She lifted Belle to her breast and was greeted with the sweet symphonic sound of silence. For a few brief moments she basked in it, knowing that it would not last long. Belle never stayed quiet for more than a few moments

Maurice hadn't been much help over the past few days. Miraculously, he managed to sleep through Belle's constant crying. He wasn't a bad father. He loved to spend time with his little daughter. For hours he would marvel at Belle's tiny limbs and chubby little body. But when Belle began to cry he was nowhere to be found. Sofia was left alone to calm her. She didn't think she could take it anymore.

"There's my little Belle!"

Speak of the devil! Maurice entered the room just as Sofia pulled Belle away from her breast. Maurice beamed at his daughter.

"Glad to see she's alright now. I could hear her from downstairs. Got a set of lungs on her, doesn't she? Let me take her. You look tired."

Sofia gratefully handed her to Maurice. Belle yawned and settled into her father's arms.

"What time is it?" he asked, smoothing down Belle's tuft of hair.

"I think it's sometime around midnight," Sofia muttered, sinking down into the chair next to Belle's cradle.

"But it's daytime outside!"

"Sorry, dolce, I haven't slept in days," Sofia yawned, putting her head in her hands. "Little Belle just won't stop crying and I don't know why."

"She's just a baby. She's supposed to cry. She's barely over a week old. She is probably scared of this strange new world she's just been thrust into."

"But she hasn't even been outside this house! I-I don't think I can do this anymore," she admitted.

"Look, she's asleep now." Maurice said, gently putting the slumbering Belle back into her cradle and leading Sofia out the room. "Come on, go to bed. She looks like she'll be down for a while."

Sofia kissed Maurice on the forehead and headed off to the bedroom. As soon as she laid her head on the pillow, she heard the last thing she wanted to hear: a knock at the door. Maurice was down in the cellar where he couldn't hear the door. Sofia groaned, pulled back her blankets and stumbled towards the front door. She forced open the door and found Celine, Walter, and David, their small son, standing before her.

"Celine, this is a surprise," Sofia blinked in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"Good morning, Sofia. We came to see the little darling," Celine beamed.

"Who?" Sofia blinked. "Oh, the baby. She just fell asleep."

"We only just learned about the birth this morning when we heard Madame Beaumont and Madame Bisette gossiping by the bakery," Celine told her. "I'd have thought you'd tell us sooner. We are family, after all."

"I am sorry, Celine," Sofia yawned. "Really, but I've just been busy with the baby that I haven't had time to do anything else."

"You do look exhausted."

"You're right, I am and I-" Sofia paused, wondering how to get rid of Celine and her family without being rude.

"We won't be here long, I promise," Celine said, clasping Sofia's hand in her own. "We'll just go in to have a quick look at the baby and leave."

"Please don't disturb her," Sofia pleaded.

"We'll be as quiet as possible," promised Celine.

Sofia lead Celine, Walter, and David through the house towards Belle's room. Sofia pushed open the door as quietly as possible. Belle looked like a little angel as she lay sleeping in her cradle. The sun streaming in through the window bathed her in a veil of golden sunlight.

"Oh, she's just gorgeous!" cooed Celine, kneeling by the cradle to get a closer look. "She looks just like you."

"What's her name?" asked David, who was looking at the baby with a very unimpressed look on his face.

"Belle."

"What an appropriate name for such a beautiful little girl," Celine sighed.

"Yes, it has a nice ring to it," said Walter, who promptly burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Celine and Sofia stared at him. Belle began to stir.

"She cries all the time! All day, all night, she just won't stop! I don't understand! I feed her, I change her, I rock her, I sing to her, but she just won't stop crying!" Sofia moaned quietly, quickly pushing Walter out the door so that he wouldn't disturb Belle. "What am I doing wrong?"

"All babies cry, Sofia," Celine reminded her. David reached into the cradle to touch the baby.

"I know, but, honestly, I swear that she cries more than any other baby I've ever known."

"She's fine now, look. David! Get away from that poor girl before I smack you."

David quickly pulled his hand away.

"I only just got her to sleep. It's the first time it's been quiet around here in days. David, please don't disturb her, darling. It will take me hours to calm her down."

"I can't believe you gave a birth a week ago," said Celine, looking up and down Sofia's slim body with a hint of envy in her eyes. "I couldn't walk for weeks after I gave birth, and my body still isn't back to normal. Do you eat anything? Take her for a walk the next time she cries. That's how I got David to sleep whenever I couldn't calm him down. David, I told you not to touch her!"

The young boy had grown bored and, ignoring both his mother's and Sofia's orders, had started to poke the sleeping baby, which had unfortunately woken Belle and sent her in a crying fit.

"David! What did I tell you?" Celine furiously took her son by the arm. "You're in a lot of trouble. Sorry about that, Sofia. Remember what I said. Good bye!"

Celine stormed out of the house, dragging her son and husband behind her, leaving Sofia alone with her screaming daughter. Sofia was about to start crying herself. She lifted Belle from her crib and hopelessly tried to calm her. An explosion came from the cellar below and Belle began to cry even louder. Sofia groaned. There was no way she was going to get Belle back to sleep now. Maybe Celine was right. Sofia looked longingly out the window, before turning her head back to her daughter.

"Come on, Belle," she sighed. "We're going out for a little walk. Let's get you dressed so that you look nice for your first trip outside."

Sofia manoeuvred her howling daughter into a tiny white dress, tied a blue bow in the little tuft of brown hair sticking out of Belle's head, and carefully tucked her into a basket padded with small pillows and blankets. Belle stopped crying as soon as Sofia stepped out the door. The fresh air and gentle rocking motion of the basket swinging slightly in Sofia's hand seemed to calm her. She lay in her basket, quietly staring up at the bright blue sky and curiously watching the tall trees and buildings go by, reaching out her little arms whenever a passer-by peered into her basket.

The area that Sofia, Maurice, and little Belle lived in was not the most sophisticated of neighbourhoods, nor was it the prettiest, and it was by far from the safest. However, after living there for seven years, she had grown quite fond of it and its peculiar residents, even if they and it didn't have best reputation.

As she rounded the corner, Sofia saw Laurette, Suzette, and Evangeline sitting outside the brothel. Sofia had developed a friendship with the three girls over the years. She found them fascinating, and loved to hear stories about their various male customers, and they enjoyed her company, mostly because she was one of the few who did not judge them. They had to make a living somehow, after all. Ordinarily she would have loved to converse with them. Today, however, Sofia wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone. Unfortunately, the girls saw her before she could change paths and waved her over.

"Sofia! You look dreadful!" gasped Suzette when Sofia approached them.

"I haven't slept in days," she muttered, holding up the basket in her hands.

"Oh, yes! We had heard that the little one had arrived," said Laurette.

"What a sweet little boy!" exclaimed Evangeline, reaching into the basket to pinch Belle's cheek. However, just before her fingers reached the baby's face, Belle's hand came loose from the swaddles and grabbed Evangeline's finger.

"He is simply adorable!" agreed Suzette.

"She's a girl," Sofia corrected them. "Her name is Belle."

"Oh? We should have guessed!" cried Laurette with an apologetic tone in her voice. "There's a cute little bow in her hair."

"She looks just like you!" squealed Evangeline in agreement.

"You're so lucky that your baby is cute, Sofia," Suzette told her. "Madame Roche's new baby looks absolutely ghastly. They came past last week and I had never seen such an ugly baby! He was so scrawny and pale, with an awful scrunched in face. Your little Belle is a cherubic little thing, though. Just look at those pudgy little legs!"

"And those eyes!" sighed Laurette. "So lovely and brown. Are they brown or hazel? I can never tell the difference between those colours. They look the same to me."

"And that hair! It's a shame she doesn't have your lovely golden locks, Sofia, but her hair is such a lovely shade of brown," said Evangeline.

"She has her father's hair," Sofia replied, smiling weakly.

"Ah, yes. Darling Maurice. He's rather peculiar and not much to look at, but he's such a dear little thing. And so devoted to you! We've never seen him around here."

"He's too scared to even walk past here, bless his sweet little soul."

"He is a very sweet man," Sofia muttered, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. She quickly said good bye to the girls and continued on her way. As she walked on, she was approached by several people who complimented her on her baby. The attention was nice, but the last thing she wanted to do right now was make small-talk.

She stopped at a small secluded, picturesque park hidden in the mess of ugly buildings. Sofia and Maurice had discovered this lovely little place on one of the walks they went on when they were first courting. It really was a beautiful place, with rose bushes and trees and a lovely little pond where ducks often congregated. Sofia had come here a lot over the years, both with Maurice and without. It was a nice place to go to relax and collect one's thoughts. It was usually completely deserted, but it had become overrun recently, and it wasn't quite as peaceful as it once was. Fortunately for Sofia, it was currently empty for the most part, with the exception of one short, forlorn-looking, troll-like man with an ugly, squashed in little nose occupying one of two benches. Sofia sat down at the other one, placing the sleeping Belle beside her. The man sitting at the other bench looked over at her peculiarly, his eyes fixed on Belle's basket. Sofia closed her eyes and relaxing, basking in this rare moment of serenity.

Sofia did love little Belle, really. She was her daughter, after all. She had to. But there was still that nagging feeling at the back of her mind. There was something wrong with Belle. She just didn't feel like her daughter. The thought was ridiculous. She had carried and given birth to her. The baby looked exactly like her. There was no doubt that Belle was her child. To be entirely honest, she was not exactly sure if she actually loved Belle, or if she was fooling herself into thinking that she loved her because she had to. She hated admitting it to herself, but she just couldn't shake that feeling. Of course she cared about her, just as she cared for any other child, but that was not the same as love.

As she thought back to the days before she became a mother, when she had desperately longed for a baby, the reasons she had wanted a child had been purely superficial. She had dreamed of having a daughter she braid the hair of, dress in pretty dresses, and read stories to. Never had she given any thought to the sleepless nights and physical and emotional pain that came with having a baby, nor had she considered the constant care that a young child required.

She knew that babies cried, of course, but she certainly hadn't thought that they cried this much. Although, she had had very limited contact with babies before she gave birth herself. Of course she didn't expect little Belle to cry so much. Honestly, she didn't think she could take much more of this. Though she did enjoy going out and socialising, Sofia was still a rather private person who valued her privacy. Now that she had a child, she would never a moment to herself again. Maybe she should have spent more time around young children before having one herself. She didn't deserve Belle. Perhaps she should hand over her daughter to another couple, one who would give her the love and care that she deserved.

Sofia chastised herself and quickly put the thought out of her mind. She was just tired, she told herself, and was in no state to be thinking about this sort of thing. Sofia opened her eyes and looked up at the sky. It was starting to get dark. It was time she went home. She reached out for Belle's basket and her heart stopped. It wasn't there. Belle was gone. Someone must have taken her. Or had they? Throughout her pregnancy she had been terrified of waking up one day to find her baby missing, and realizing that it had all been a dream. Had Belle just been a figment of her imagination. Was she going insane?

No, that was foolish. This was no time for making excuses for herself. Her baby really had gone missing. Sofia wasn't insane. She was just a bad mother. How could she have let this happen? Why did she take her eyes away from Belle? This was all her fault. But she couldn't waste her time blaming herself. She had to find her daughter. Sofia looked around wildly. There was no trace of her daughter. The odd-looking man was gone too. There was no one else around, and he had been looking at her strangely. She hated making assumptions, but he must have taken her. No one else could have.

Sofia quickly ran out of the park. She wasn't quite as fit as she had been before her pregnancy, but she could still run rather fast. The streets were full of people heading home to their families, and, in Sofia's sleep deprived and emotional state, it was hard to tell one person from the next. She frantically navigated through the crowds, tears streaming from her face, too distracted to stop and apologise to the people she pushed past.

"Sofia, dear, what's wrong?" cried the stately Madame Beaumont who came hobbling towards her. "You look so upset!"

"My baby's gone! Someone must have taken her," Sofia croaked, barely able to speak.

"Don't panic, dear," Madame Beaumont told her, gingerly patting Sofia on the shoulder. "We'll find her. Do you know who took her?"

"I got a glimpse of who I think might have taken her," Sofia wailed. "He was a rather odd looking man. He probably would have come up to my stomach. Black-greyish hair, a little squashed in nose, and he kept looking at me in a very strange way."

Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, Sofia saw him. The man in the park. There was no mistaking that nose. He was walking along the river bank with a regretful look on his face. But Belle wasn't with him. Her heart sunk. If he hadn't' taken her, who had? Now she was never going to get her daughter back.

Wait a minute! That sound that rose above the mindless chatter of the tired workers and gossipy busybodies sounded very familiar. Never had Sofia been so happy to hear Belle's cry. It appeared to be coming from the strange looking man, but Belle was nowhere to be found. She jogged towards him, leaving Madame Beaumont without a word. As she approached him, she noticed something very peculiar about the bag he was carrying. It was wriggling! Her heart sunk. He had hidden Belle in the bag. She was going to suffocate in there.

Sofia ran faster than she had ran before, reaching Belle's kidnapper in just a few seconds. She grabbed the man by his back collar, lifted him up, and delivered a strong, swift kick right into the middle of his stomach. She let him drop to the ground, hastily grabbing the bag carrying Belle before it was too late. She opened the bag and was relieved to see Belle's red little face screaming back at her. The bow in her hair had come loose, and her dress was ripped, but other than she seemed fine. Sofia hugged her daughter to her chest. A crowd of people formed around them.

"P-please forgive me," the man stammered with a thick foreign accent. "My wife and I can't have children, and she has grown very depressed because of this. She has often spoken of ending her own life because she doesn't want to live if she can't have children. I don't want to lose my wife, and when I saw you sleeping there with your baby unattended- I- just… I regret it. It was wrong of me to take a baby from its mother."

Sofia thought for several moments.

"I will forgive you," she declared slowly. "But if you ever come near my daughter again I will do something much worse than a simple kick in the stomach."

She strode off, still hugging Belle to her chest.

"Now how could I think that I didn't love you," she whispered to her daughter. "What a silly thing for Mama to think! You are my daughter, even if you aren't quite what I expected. I am sorry it took so long for me to realize this, Belle, but I promise I'll never think anything like that again. Losing you made me realize just how precious you are. And hearing that man's story has just made me cherish you more. I yearned for you for so long, and when you did arrive I acted like an ungrateful child. I don't deserve you, but I'm never, ever going to give you up."

* * *

_May 31__st__, 1743_

As Spring came to an end, Sofia prepared to begin her ballet classes again. She was excited to be restarting her work again, but she was reluctant to leave her seven month old daughter alone for so long. She wouldn't really be leaving her alone, of course. Maurice would be looking after Belle for the few hours she would be gone.

"I can't do this," she declared as she, Maurice, and Belle stood out on the street on her first day. Maurice held little Belle in his arms as the little girl played with the tips of Sofia's long, golden hair.

"She'll be fine here," Maurice insisted.

"This is the first time I've been apart from her. What if something happens? What if she crawls out onto the street and gets stepped on by a horse?"

"Crawl?" Maurice repeated incredulously. "She can barely sit up on her own. I'll look after her. I won't let her out of my sight, I promise."

Sofia leant down and gave both Belle and Maurice a kiss on the head.

"I'll only be gone for a few hours, tesorina," she told her daughter. "You be a good girl for Papa."

Sofia walked down the street, turning around every few steps to tearfully look back at her husband and daughter. Maurice waved Belle's little hand at her. Sofia forced a smile and waved back.

This wouldn't be so hard, Maurice told himself. Belle was such a jovial, pleasant little baby. She didn't cry half as much as she did when she was first born. Unfortunately, the hope for a nice, quiet afternoon with his daughter flew out the window when Belle as to wail when Sofia disappeared around the corner.

"Come on now, Belle. Mama won't be gone long," he soothed as he brought her inside. "This is a good chance for you and I to spend some time together."

Maurice took her down into the cellar with him. Sofia, forever worried for her daughter's health, disapproved of Belle going down into that dirty little cellar, but she wasn't here.

"Look, Belle," he announced as he brought her towards a strange device that looked more like the work of a mentally deranged artist than a slightly odd inventor. "This is my latest invention. It washes your clothing without you having to do any of the work. It's going to win me first prize at the next inventor's fair, and then we'll have enough money to buy you all sorts of toys and dresses. Won't that be wonderful? So far every piece of clothing I've put in there has been torn to shreds, but there's still time."

It was no use. Belle continued to scream her lungs out. Maurice brought her back upstairs. Sofia had fed her before she left so she couldn't be hungry. And she was clean so she didn't need to be changed. He sunk down on the settee in front of the portrait of Jeanne and sat the screaming Belle on his knee.

"Look, Belle!" he said, pointing to the portrait. "That's your grandmother. Isn't she beautiful? Not as beautiful as you and your mother of course. It's a shame you'll never get to know any of your grandparents. My mother and father are dead, as is Jeanne there, and for some reason your mother refuses to even speak about her father so I doubt you'll ever get to meet him. Maybe I'll take you to meet your Uncle Michel one day, though."

Belle's crying didn't cease. Maurice bounced her on his knee, and tried to amuse her with some of the handmade toys that were lying around, but nothing seemed to calm her. Their first day alone together was not going quite as well as Maurice would have hoped. He leaned back into the settee, but something jabbed him in the back. He pulled the object out and inspected it. It was a book. The very same book that the bookseller had given to him for his mother nearly twenty years before, in fact. How had it ended up here?

Maurice looked from his wailing daughter to the book. Maybe it would calm her down. It was unlikely, but worth a try. He sat Belle next to him and opened the book to its first page, which had a very colourful illustration of a cheery-looking dragon.

"Once upon a time-" he began, before stopping in realization.

There was silence. Belle reached out to the touch the illustration, fascinated. She beamed up at her father. Maurice smiled back. He continued to read aloud to her. Occasionally Belle would giggle and snuggle against her father.

Sofia returned home a few hours later to find Belle sitting on her father's knee with an enraptured expression on her face, her eyes wide with excitement as he read to her from the last book in the house, with piles of the remaining literature scattered messily around them, .


	14. Goldenrod

**Chapter Fourteen**

_March 2__nd__, 1744_

It had been seven years since their marriage and Prince Renaud and Princess Aurelia were finally about to host their first official ball together. It had taken months of planning. Aurelia had spent hours and hours deciding on decorations, food, and music. It had taken up a significant amount of time. Time that she could have spent bonding with her five year old son who still treated her like a stranger. But that could wait. She had more important things to deal with now.

By far the most important thing was, of course, the dress. Aurelia had wanted a simple dress, preferably one that weighed less than fifty pounds and looked more like an item of clothing than an over-decorated Christmas tree or a wedding cake. She would rather have a gown she could walk and dance around in than one that looked impressive but could barely fit through a door. She had requested it to be bright pink, a colour she had always had fondness for, and covered in copious amounts of frills and lace.

Madame Tailler, the castle's couturier, was aghast. Frills and lace were incredibly tacky and hadn't been in fashion for years, she had said. And bright pink was such an ugly colour and extremely inappropriate for a princess. Aurelia would be the laughingstock of the country if she turned up to the ball wearing a dress like that. Madame Tailler insisted on a more impressive design. Aurelia would look much lovelier in a dress with a tight bodice and a long, flowing skirt, preferably in light blue, the same colour as the princess's eyes.

Aurelia, who despised arguing, reluctantly agreed, except for one thing. She abhorred blue and refused to wear any gown of that colour. Unfortunately, finding a colour they both liked turned out to be more difficult than either of them had expected. Aurelia considered red to be too harsh, grey to be too bland, and black only appropriate for a funeral. Madame Tailler believed that purple should only be worn by ancient old ladies and that brown was a "peasant colour". They finally settled upon a lovely shade of golden yellow, not unlike that of a ripe lemon.

The fittings were long and tedious. For hours, Aurelia would stand in the third floor parlour watching Mrs Potts play with little Adam in the garden below as Madame Tailler measured her waist line and stuck pins into her back. This wouldn't be so bad, but hearing her son's constant happy giggles drove her insane. She wanted to be out there with him, but she couldn't. Every day was torture. And today was not an exception.

"Anything wrong, Princess?" asked the couturier, concerned. "You don't look yourself today."

"I feel rather ill today, Madame Tailler," Aurelia answered. "I could use a rest. Do you think we could do this some other time?"

"Of course, dear. We still have a few weeks left. You go ahead and lie down for a while."

Aurelia's legs did not bring her to her bedchambers, but rather to the library. The library had grown a lot since she had first arrived in the castle seven years previously. She had spent the majority of her spare time in the last few years compiling and nurturing her collection. Aurelia had browsed and bought from almost every bookshop in France. She had ordered books from as far away as Naples and Hamburg. She had spent hours organising them by topic and carefully placing them on the shelves. Now almost every bookcase in the library was completely full.

She took a book from the shelf and settled into an armchair by one of the enormous windows. Aurelia allowed the book to engulf her and she was soon drawn into the story. Adam's joyful laugh jolted her back to reality. Aurelia put her book on the table, stood up, and peered out the window. Her son was picking flowers from the rose garden (Borde, the gardener, was not going to be happy), assembling them into a bouquet, and bringing them over and presenting them to Mrs Potts. Upon receiving the bouquet, Mrs Potts scooped him up into her arms to cuddle him.

"Look, Adam!" Mrs Potts exclaimed, noticing Aurelia at the window. There's your mother. Wave to Mama, Adam."

Rather than wave to his mother, Adam buried his face into Mrs Potts' chest. Aurelia sat back down and picked her book back up, but it was hard to concentrate now. She had carried him for almost nine months and nearly died giving birth to him, yet her own son treated her like a stranger. In fact, Adam seemed downright terrified of her. He didn't treat his father like this. Adam loved Renaud, who saw him even less than Aurelia did. It did make sense for a boy to idolize his father, but it just wasn't fair. Why did he dislike her so much? Aurelia had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with his nanny.

She had a nanny as a child. Her name was Anne. Or maybe it was Emma. No, it was definitely Anne. Aurelia had loved Anne. She had read to her, played with her, and given her the love that her that the young princess's mother had not given her. Anne and Aurelia's mother had a terrible when the princess was six years old, and the nanny had left to work at another household not long after. The King and Queen had neglected to hire another nanny, and little Aurelia had been left to look after herself. It had been hard at first, but it had forced the princess to grow up fast. Maybe it was time for her son to grow up.

* * *

Aurelia lit another candle and settled back down in her chair. She looked over at the clock sitting on the mantel of the closest fireplace. It was ten past eight. Aurelia had asked Mrs Potts to come to the library at exactly eight o'clock. She was now ten minutes late. Aurelia was beginning to get annoyed, so annoyed that she could barely concentrate on her book. If she took any longer, Aurelia was going to sack her altogether.

The library doors squeaked open and Maggie Potts entered the room. Aurelia looked up from her book.

"You wanted to see me, Madame?" Mrs Potts asked nervously.

"Yes, Maggie. Sit down." Aurelia tried to smile warmly at her. Mrs Potts sat in the chair opposite the princess.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I just put Adam to bed," Mrs Potts told the princess. "That boy is the most adorable child in the world. You are so lucky to have such a wonderful son."

"He is rather cute, isn't he? He will make women very happy when he grows up," Aurelia agreed. "That's actually what I wanted to speak to you about. Do you remember why you were originally assigned to look after my son?"

"Yes, you were too sick after you gave birth to breastfeed the little prince," Mrs Potts recalled. "I had just lost my own baby and I had milk to spare. It was easier than bringing in a wet nurse from outside the castle."

"He's just turned five," Aurelia replied. "I don't think he needs to be breastfed anymore."

"Well, of course. He hasn't been breastfed since he was six months old," Mrs Potts told her.

"Then what exactly is your purpose?" Aurelia asked sharply.

"I dress him, I play with him, I read to him, I put him to bed," Mrs Potts listed.

"He is five years old. I think it is time that he learns to dress himself," said Aurelia. "His father and I can put him to bed and read to him. And he has plenty of toys to play with. I don't think you are needed any longer, to be honest."

"Five years old is still quite young, Madame," Mrs Potts pointed out. "He still needs to be nurtured and cared for."

"He is the sole heir to crown. He needs to grow up and he can't do that with you around," said Aurelia harshly. "I think it is best if you have no more contact with him."

"So I can't see him anymore?"

"No contact whatsoever," Aurelia clarified. "I don't want to this, but it is for his own good."

"You are right, mistress," Mrs Potts conceded with slight hesitation. "It is best if I don't speak to him anymore. He will be very upset, though. What am I to do now?"

"Don't worry. We'll find a new job for you," Aurelia told her.

"May I say at least say good bye to him, Madame?" asked Mrs Potts.

"I think it is best for both of you if you have no more contact with him. I will tell him tomorrow. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Madame."

* * *

Maggie slammed the door of her room shut and sank down into a chair. She didn't believe that Adam needed to grow up so soon and she doubted that Aurelia really thought so either. Most likely she was jealous of her and Adam's close relationship. She could not blame the princess, though. If she had a child, she would probably be jealous if her child preferred another woman to their own mother. She was going to miss Adam, though. She had really grown to love that little boy.

"What's wrong, dear? You seem upset."

Maggie jumped. Her husband was sitting up in bed, looking at her peculiarly. James had been ill the past few weeks. He was often so sick that he could barely get out of bed. They were both getting very worried. His illness was beginning to affect his job.

"I'm sorry, love," Maggie sighed. "I didn't see you there. I had something on my mind."

"What's wrong?" James asked.

"I'm not allowed to spend time with little Adam anymore."

"I am sorry, love," her husband sympathised. "Maybe it's for the best, though. He's not a baby anymore."

"I suppose you're right," Maggie murmured, unconvinced. "Have you been to see the castle physician yet?"

James' expression turned grim.

"Not yet, I'll go tomorrow. Can you make me a cup of tea, Maggie dear?"

Maggie headed towards the door, but stopped just as her hand curled around the doorhandle. She turned back and looked right into her husband's eyes.

"I've been feeling ill myself recently," she admitted.

"I hope nothing's wrong."

"I think I am going to have another baby."

"Really?" James smiled weakly. "That's wonderful!"

"I wonder how long this one will last," she said bitterly.

"You should be more optimistic, Maggie," James told his wife. "Maybe we will be lucky this time."

"I doubt it."

"Come on, be more positive," he encouraged.

"I don't want to get my hopes up," Maggie told him. "I have not had much luck with my own babies in the past."

Maggie left the room and James lay his head back on his pillow. He had already been to see the physician, actually. The news had not been good. He had mere months, possibly weeks to live. He didn't know how he was going to tell Maggie, especially if she really was going to have a baby.


	15. Lilac

**Chapter Fifteen**

_July 28th, 1744_

"Dolce, I think Patrice is sick. We should let her rest for a while."

It was the middle of the night and Maurice, Sofia, and Belle were on their way home from Marseille. Maurice had gone to enter his washing device into a competition. Sofia had decided to take their daughter and come along with him so that she could show Belle the ocean. Maurice had been reluctant to take Belle with them. She had been suffering from an awful cold and he was afraid that the week long journey would make it worse. But Sofia insisted upon it and Maurice reluctantly agreed. The fresh summer air cleared Belle's illness up quickly, and she spent the majority of the long journey sleeping, listening to Sofia read to her, and playing with Coco, the crocheted stuffed rabbit that Sofia had made for her first birthday.

Unfortunately, Maurice once again came dead last in the competition. However, Belle had so much fun splashing around in the water and making castles out of sand that he didn't mind much. The journey back had been slightly more problematic than they had anticipated, however. Upon leaving Marseille, the weather turned vicious and Belle began to cough violently, which made Maurice even more anxious to get home. Unfortunately, their old grey mare, Patrice, was not in the best shape.

"Nonsense!" replied Maurice. "We're not far from Paris now. We might be able to get there before daybreak if we keep going."

"She's been working since we left Marseille," pointed out Sofia, cradling a sleeping Belle in her arms. "I'm worried about her."

"When we get home I'll give her a nice bunch of carrots and a big bucket of water."

"She's so old now, Maurice," groaned Sofia. "She can't handle these long journeys anymore."

A puddle soaked the wagon with mud. Maurice groaned.

"Fine, no more long journeys for her after this one," promised Maurice. "Ugh! That puddle again!"

"You've met that puddle before?" asked Sofia curiously.

"We're well-acquainted," replied Maurice. "Remember how I met the prince when I first came to Paris?"

"Oh, so that's the famous puddle?" asked Sofia, carefully balancing Belle in her arms as she leaned back to look at it. "That means your old village must be close, right? Let's stop there for the night."

"No, I want to get home as soon as possible. We can come back some other time."

"Please, dear," Sofia pleaded. "I think there are wolves in this forest."

"Nonsense. We'll be fine."

A huge peal of thunder echoed from above and rain began to pour down on them.

"It's raining now. I don't want Belle to get sick again."

A huge raindrop hit Belle right in the middle of her face, causing the small girl to wake from her deep slumber and burst into a howl that could rival that of any wolf.

"Maurice, it's raining, our daughter is crying, our horse is sick, and I am tired. We are stopping."

Sofia, clutching Belle to her chest, climbed off the old wooden cart. Maurice followed her reluctantly.

"Where is it?" she asked.

"Where's what?"

"Your old village."

Maurice pointed to a narrow muddy path. Sofia strode off. Maurice lead Patrice and followed her. The path eventually brought them to a quaint little village, and Maurice reluctantly took them to his old, equally quaint little cottage.

Sofia retrieved a small bag of Belle's books, toys, and clothing from the old cart and headed towards the door. Maurice untied Patrice from the cart and lead her into the barn, before joining Sofia on the doorstep. Maurice knocked tentatively on the door. They waited for a full ten minutes in the rain, listening to Belle scream her lungs out.

"I don't think he's home," said Maurice finally. Sofia rolled her eyes.

"Let's go in anyway."

"No, no, I don't want to go in while he's not home. We'll wait."

"It's your house too, isn't it?" demanded Sofia. "I don't want to stand out here in the rain any longer."

Sofia pushed open the door and marched inside. Maurice followed her reluctantly. He lit up a candle that was sitting on the chest of drawers by the staircase. Sofia sat down on the settee, opened the bag, pulled out a piece of cloth, and started to dry Belle off.

"Where do you think your brother is?" she asked as she squeezed the moisture out of Belle's hair.

Maurice jumped a foot in the air as he heard a huge peal of thunder echo from outside. The door flew open and the tall, hulking figure of Michel Desrosiers entered the room. His eyes fell on Maurice and his jaw dropped.

"Maurice? What are you doing here?"

"Uh… H-h-hi, Michel," Maurice stammered looking to Sofia for help. "We were just passing by and thought we'd stop in to see you."

"We?" asked Michel, noticing Sofia and Belle for the first time.

"Oh, that's Sofia, my wife. And this is our little Belle. Sofia, this is my brother, Michel."

Sofia looked up and flashed Michel her most charming smile.

"Good evening," she giggled, winking at him. Michel blushed. Maurice frowned. "Dreadful weather, isn't it? I am sorry about this, but my little girl has been sick recently and she's only just getting over it. I didn't want her to stay out there in the rain so I persuaded Maurice to take us back to his old village. I hope you don't mind."

"No, no, it's fine," Michel insisted,

Michel bent down to take a closer look at Belle. The toddler's hazel eyes filled with curiosity. She reached out to touch her uncle's nose gently.

"She's adorable," he breathed.

"Don't you think so? Doesn't she have the loveliest eyes?" gushed Sofia, never one to miss an opportunity to extol the virtues of her precious baby daughter. "They exude intelligence and maturity. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever laid eyes on. That's we named her Belle, like your mother. At first Maurice didn't want to call her that because he has mother issues, but he came around eventually. "

Sofia's obsession with her small daughter was both frightening and touching. Michel smiled and stood back up.

"How old is she?"

"Twenty-one months," answered Sofia, beaming proudly. "She turns two on All Hallows Eve. Of course Belle is very advanced for her age. I'll show you. Belle, greet your Uncle Michel like Mama taught you to."

Sofia placed Belle down on the floor in front of her. The girl used the settee to pull herself into an upright position and turned to face her uncle. Wobbling precariously, she positioned her right foot just behind her left, and took the tips of her dress in her two little hands.

"Bojoo!" Belle shrieked as she bent into a curtsy. Before she could bring herself up, however, the small girl tumbled face first onto the hard wooden floor. She sat up, her eyes filling with tears. Her bottom lip trembled and she burst into an ear-shattering wail.

"Her balance still needs work," said Sofia, taking Belle in her arms to comfort her. "It was a good try, though. Don't cry, tesorina."

Maurice laughed. Sofia looked over at the clock on the mantelpiece and gasped.

"Heavens! It's one o'clock in the morning. Belle should be in bed. We should all be in bed, actually."

As if on cue, Belle yawned and leaned against her mother's breast. Sofia stood up, holding her daughter tightly. Belle rested her head on Sofia's shoulder, barely able to keep her eyes open.

"You can have our parents' old room," said Michel. "It's at the top of the stairs. The room has been vacant for years. It's just been me living here for the past few years."

Sofia looked at Maurice expectantly.

"I'll be there in a moment," he told her.

Sofia climbed the stairs. Belle yawned and waved weakly at Maurice and Michel. The two brothers stood awkwardly in silence for several moments.

"I'm surprised, Michel," said Maurice finally. "I'd have thought you'd be married by now. You were always popular with women."

Michel frowned and shifted uncomfortably.

"There was someone I loved," he admitted. "But they- She married someone else. But that doesn't matter now."

"Plenty of other women out there," encouraged Maurice.

"I suppose so," Michel said quietly. "I'm not really the marrying type."

"What are you doing now?" Maurice asked, hastily trying to change the subject.

"I run the tavern," sighed Michel, sitting down on the settee. "Old Dufort died with no close family around. I was feeling bored and listless so I decided to take over. What about you?"

"I come up with inventions, I lose competitions, I do some carpentry work for money, I make toys for Belle."

"I hope you don't mind me saying this, but you never seemed like the marrying type either," interjected Michel. "How did you end up married to your beautiful wife?"

"After a few months of living in Paris I met Sofia and fell in love with her," replied Maurice with a shrug. "I mean, who wouldn't fall in love with her? And, by some miracle, she fell in love with me too. So we got married. She desperately wanted to have a baby, and I desperately wanted to make her happy. After seven years of bad luck we finally had Belle and now we can't imagine life without her."

"I must say, I never imagined you with a child either," laughed Michel.

"The day Belle was born was the greatest day of my life," sighed Maurice. "I still remember looking down at that little person for the first time and seeing a tiny version of Sofia staring back at me."

Maurice said good night to Michel and descended the stairs to join his wife. Sofia was sitting up in bed, smiling down at Belle who was already in a deep sleep, clutching Coco to her chest. Her little cheeks were flushed a rosy pink and there was a thin layer of drool forming around her mouth.

"I hope Patrice will be alright out there," said Sofia, worriedly glancing out the window.

"She'll be fine," Maurice told her. "I put her in the barn with the other animals. At least she's not out in the rain."

"I suppose," said Sofia, who wasn't quite convinced. She looked back down at Belle who had rolled onto her side and had started to suck one of her little plump thumbs. Sofia smiled and tucked a chocolate brown curl behind her daughter's ear.

* * *

The rain cleared up the next morning and was replaced by a brilliant blue cloudless sky, a shining yellow sun, and a beautiful rainbow filled with every colour imaginable. The weather was so good that Maurice and Sofia decided to stay another day. Well, Sofia decided to stay another day and Maurice agreed to keep her happy. Belle spent the morning chasing chickens, cuddling the baby lamb, and picking daisies. Michel placed her on the back of a small pony and took her on a short, slow walk up and down the hill as Maurice and Sofia looked on. At one point Michel had to save her from toddling into the river when she had wanted to take a closer look at the "fishies".

After lunch, Sofia and Michel took Belle for a walk in town. Maurice, who had never been fond of his neighbours when he had lived in the village, opted to stay at home and look after Patrice, who had taken a turn for the worse. As they walked down the main street of the village, locals approached them to pinch Belle's rosy cheeks and tell her how cute she was. Belle hated having her cheeks pinched, but she enjoyed the attention nonetheless.

"There's Ariana Devin coming towards us," said Michel quietly.

A tall woman dressed in an elegant emerald green gown and with golden hair longer and shinier than even Sofia's blonde locks, was gliding towards them. Two identical little girls, one dressed in red and the other dressed in green, clutched the fingers of her right hand, while another girl, identical to the other two but wearing a yellow dress, had a tight grip on her left hand.

"Ah, Madame Devin," Michel greeted her.

"Michel," Ariana beamed. "Lovely weather we're having, isn't it? I'm taking the girls for a walk."

"This is my sister-in-law, Sofia," said Michel, gesturing to Sofia.

"Good afternoon. I am Ariana," smiled the woman. She nodded towards the two girls clinging to her right hand. "This is Acantha and this is Xanthia-"

"I'm Phaedra, Mama," said the little girl in red. "Xanthia's holding your other hand."

The girl in the yellow dress looked up at her mother and nodded. Ariana looked very embarrassed.

"I'm tired," Ariana explained to Sofia apologetically. "Looking after three young girls is not easy. And they all look the same," she added in a low whisper. Sofia smiled.

"Thankfully I have just one little girl, though she is quite a handful at times."

Ariana looked down at Belle and her eyes widened. She relinquished her grip she had on her own daughters' hands and bent down so that her face was level with Belle's. Belle took a terrified step back and gripped Sofia's hand tighter.

"Yes," she whispered proudly, cupping Belle's scared face in her hand. "You certainly are a pretty little thing. I did do a good job, didn't I?"

Belle let go of her mother's hand and smiled. She reached out and touched Ariana's own cheek with one of her chubby little hands. Sofia stared down at them in confusion. Ariana stood back up.

"Your daughter is very lovely," she told Sofia.

"She is wonderful, isn't she?" sighed Sofia. "She's everything I've ever wanted in a daughter. Her smile is brighter than the sun and her cheeks are such a lovely shade of pink."

"Enjoy your day," Ariana smiled. "Come along, darlings."

Ariana and her daughters left Michel, Sofia, and Belle behind. The three of them continued on their way. Something inside a shop window caught Belle's eye.

"Mama!" she shrieked. "Mama! Book!"

Sofia looked up at the sign hanging above the doorway.

"It is a bookshop. Do you want to go inside, Belle?" Sofia asked teasingly.

Belle nodded furiously.

"I suppose we can take a look around," she mused.

Belle relinquished her grip on her mother's hand and ran towards the door of the bookshop. She jumped up and down, desperately trying and failing to grab onto the handle. Sofia laughed and pushed open the door for her. Belle skipped inside, barely able to contain her excitement. Sofia and Michel followed her. An old, grey-haired, bespectacled man looked up from his desk.

"Good afternoon," he greeted them with a smile.

"Good afternoon," Sofia grinned. "Belle, say hello to the nice man."

Belle stayed silent. She stared up at the shelves in wonder. The little girl had never seen so many books in one place.

"I'm sorry," said Sofia with a shrug. "She's really a polite little girl. I've been teaching her proper manners recently. Belle just gets excited when she's around books."

"It's fine," the bookseller smiled. "I must admit I am jealous, though. My own little girls aren't interested in books at all."

"Monsieur Devin is Ariana's husband," explained Michel.

"Oh, were those your little girls I just saw?" asked Sofia. "They were so cute!"

The bookseller found them the perfect book: a relatively new one that had a rather lackluster story but made up for it with the big, bright, colourful pictures that captivated Belle, who could not yet read on her own.

Upon returning home, they found Maurice still sitting in the barn, comfortingly brushing Patrice's hair.

"She's not well," he said solemnly. "We'll have to stay another night."

Michel cooked dinner for them. His cooking turned out far better than either of them had expected. Maurice and Sofia's lack of cooking skills had prevented them from eating a properly cooked meal in years, and they wolfed down their food. Most of Belle's dinner ended up on the floor, however, but she didn't seem to mind so much. After dinner, the small girl settled down on the floor beside the fireplace with Coco in one hand and her new book in the other. She happily flicked through the pages, marveling at the colourful pictures and pointing out her favourites to Coco.

* * *

The next morning, Maurice went into the barn to check on Patrice. He returned with a solemn, regretful look on his face.

"Patrice is dead," he said quietly so that Belle, who was playing on the floor by the window, couldn't hear him.

"Oh no!" Sofia gasped. "I told you that she couldn't take these long journeys! This is your fault."

"I know, I know. This is my fault," admitted Maurice. "But how are we going to get home now?"

"You could take one of my horses," offered Michel. "I don't mind. I have plenty of horses to spare."

"Oh, thank you, Michel. I don't know how we can repay you," Sofia flashed him a grateful smile. "What about Belle? What are we going to tell her?"

"She's not even two yet. She won't even notice," insisted Maurice.

An hour later, Michel and Sofia hitched Harriette, their new horse, up to the cart as Maurice brought Belle outside.

"That's not horsie," Belle said, frowning. "Where's horsie, Papa?"

"Patrice decided that she'd rather stay here," lied Maurice awkwardly. "But we have a new horsie now. This is Harriette."

"I liked old horsie," insisted Belle.

"You'll grow to like our new horsie too," said Maurice hopefully.

"No! I want old horsie back now!" she demanded, stamping one pudgy little foot on the ground furiously.

"Come on, Belle," Sofia soothed, picking her up and placing her on the seat of the cart. "Just wait until we get back home and then you and Harriette can bond with each other."

She quickly opened up her bag and pulled Coco and the new book out before Belle could burst into tears. The three of them waved Michel good bye and set back on their way.

"Maurice, do you ever think about the future?" asked Sofia, looking up at the bright blue sky and smiling to herself.

"What is there to think about? I already know what's in our future."

"Oh? Care to share it with me?"

"We'll continue to live in happily married bliss together," Maurice told her with a smile. "You'll teach your dance class and I'll continue to dream up wild inventions and come last in competitions. Belle will have a nice happy childhood, even if we can't give her whatever she wants. She'll grow up and get married to a nice young man and give us lots of grandchildren who will come to visit us when we are in our final years."

"And?"

"And then we'll die, I guess," Maurice shrugged. "Which cemetery would you like to be buried in? Personally I'm rather fond of that one by the church two blocks away."

"But we can't stay living in that old house forever," said Sofia , ignoring Maurice's question. "Every time there's a storm I am worried that it will be blown away with us inside."

"You're right," agreed Maurice. "When we've saved up enough money we'll move to a nicer house."

"Where?"

"Not too far away from where we live now. We don't want to leave any of our friends behind."

"I think we should move out here to the country. Belle would have all those fields to play in, and we could grow our own food and be self-sufficient."

"You've never done any gardening in your life," countered Maurice.

"I can learn," Sofia insisted. "I learned how to knit and sew, remember. Gardening can't be that hard."

"I like it better in the city," said Maurice.

"How do you know? You never even go outside," cried Sofia indignantly.

"I'm much happier in the city than I ever was in the village. You don't know those people like I do."

"They seemed nice when I met them," replied Sofia.

"I grew up with them," said Maurice. "Trust me, they aren't as nice as they let on."

"But what about Belle's health?" asked Sofia. "The city is making her sick. This is the healthiest she's been in months."

Belle yawned, laid her head against her mother's chest and drifted off to sleep as the sound of Sofia's heartbeat drowned out the sounds of her parents' arguing.


	16. Teal

**Chapter Sixteen**

_October 31__st__, 1746_

"Mama! Mama! Mama! Wake up, Mama!"

The dream Sofia had been having was rudely interrupted as she was brought back into the waking world by a little brown haired girl clad in a pale blue nightgown jumping up and down on her bed. Maurice, who could sleep through an earthquake, just rolled over and continued to snore.

"Are you awake now, Mama?" Belle asked innocently, clutching Coco to her chest.

"Yes! Go bother your father," Sofia muttered, rolling over and burying her face into the pillow.

Belle turned around and started to shake Maurice awake.

"Papa! Papa! Papa!" the little girl shrieked repeatedly.

"Belle? What is it?" Maurice yawned, sitting up slightly and kissing his daughter's forehead.

"Belle, darling, it's five in morning," Sofia said irritably. "Go back to bed."

"I can't, Mama, I can't!" Belle shook with excitement. "Guess what day it is today, Mama! Guess!"

"Christmas?" she asked with a sly smile. Belle's face fell.

"No!"

"Easter?" teased Maurice.

"No!"

"All Saint's Day?"

"That's tomorrow, Mama!" replied Belle, frowning.

"Then it must be All Hallows Eve today, isn't it?"

"Yes, but that's not it, Mama," groaned Belle in frustration.

"Oh! I know!" declared Sofia. It's someone's birthday today, isn't it?"

Belle's face split into a wide smile. The little girl nodded furiously.

"Someone in this room's?"

"Uh-huh!"

"Is it your birthday today, dear?" Sofia asked Maurice.

"No, I don't think so," Maurice grinned. "Mine's in January."

"Then it must be your birthday, Coco," Sofia said to the little toy rabbit. "This is incredible. I didn't even know toys had birthdays."

"It's not Coco's birthday, Mama," Belle whimpered, her bottom lip trembling.

"So it's mine?" asked Sofia, feigning shock. "This is a surprise. I thought I was born in May!"

Belle's face grew hot and red. Tears welled up in her little hazel eyes.

"M-mama," she wailed. "Y-you forgot my birthday!"

"Don't cry, darling," Sofia soothed. She took Belle in her arms and kissed her. "I was just teasing you. How could I forget the birthday of my favourite little girl in the whole wide world?"

"But I'm four now! I'm not little anymore, Mama. I'm a big girl today." Belle insisted.

"Of course you are, darling," Sofia assured her, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her daughter's ear. "Maurice, why don't you go get our big girl her birthday presents? It doesn't look like we'll be getting anymore sleep this morning."

Maurice disappeared for a few moments and returned carrying two brown square little packages. He set them down on the bed. Belle's eyes widened excitedly and she began to tear them open. The first package contained a white linen dress with navy blue cardboard stays with white laces and a pale blue kerchief. However, Belle was far more excited to discover the contents of the second package: a battered, ancient dusty little book with yellowed pages and a musty scent.

"Put on your new dress, tesorina," Sofia told her. "We're taking you out for a picnic in the countryside. Papa found a lovely little place on the way back from Strasbourg last month. It's in a field next to a great big forest and there are pretty flowers everywhere. Doesn't that sound exciting? There's even a little pond where there are duckies. You like duckies, don't you? "

"But I want to stay here and read my book!" Belle whined.

"We'll read it on the way there," Sofia promised as she pulled the dress over her daughter's head. "We'll have a lot fun. You can feed the duckies and pick flowers and play in the trees."

* * *

"Do you ever think about clouds?" Xanthia asked her sisters as they lay together on the grass next to river.

"What do you mean, Xanthia?" asked Phaedra curiously.

"I wonder what they're made of. They look delicious."

"Don't be stupid, Xanthia," Acantha snapped. "You think too much about food. You're getting fat."

"I am not fat!" cried Xanthia defensively.

"Hi girls!"

The triplets looked up to see a short, pug-nosed, dark haired little boy around their age grinning at them.

"What do you want, LeFou?" groaned Acantha.

"Wanna see these cool bugs I found?" he asked, holding out both of his hands to show them his collection of slightly crushed beetles and ladybugs. The girls screamed.

"Yuck!" shrieked Xanthia.

"Put them away, put them away!" cried Phaedra, shielding her eyes with her hands.

"What is wrong with you, freak?" snarled Acantha.

"Come on, girls. Just take a look at them. You'll like them if you give them a chance." LeFou shoved his hands into Xanthia's face. She screamed and knocked him away. He landed in the mud a few feet away.

"Oh dear, I didn't mean to hurt you," stammered Xanthia, her eyes filling with tears.

"How dare you make Xanthia cry!" Acantha yelled at him.

"B-but-" LeFou spluttered.

"Come on, girls, let's go." Acantha took both of her sisters' hands and led them back to the village.

"I can't believe him," groaned Phaedra as they walked through the town towards their house.

"He is revolting," agreed Xanthia.

"Girls, come inside! It's time for your lunch!"

"Mother's calling us," exclaimed Xanthia excitedly.

Ariana was waiting for them on their doorstep. The girls ran up to her.

"Can one of you go get your father?" she asked.

"Xanthia can do it," Phaedra and Acantha said together.

"That's not fair!" whined Xanthia. "Why can't Phaedra or Acantha get him? I always have to do it."

"Fine," Ariana sighed. "Acantha, you do it today. Phaedra, you have to do it tomorrow."

Acantha groaned and started off towards her father's bookshop. It was empty when she got there. Her father was nowhere to be found.

"Daddy?" she called. "Daddy, are you in here?"

There was a big purple book lying open on her father's desk. It was much bigger than any of the books her father usually brought home from the bookshop. Unable to stop herself, she wandered over to the desk and peered down at the book. Illustrations of winged demons, rotting cow carcases, and two headed cats lined the page. Some of the strangest looking words Acantha had ever seen were written out in the middle of the page in gold ink.

"Permitte te Daemonibus," she read quietly to herself. "Verte tempestatibus foedis. Fulmina et tonitrua! Inferunt mortem omnibus nobis."

Acantha jumped a foot off the ground as she heard a peal of thunder echo from above. The sounds of hail hitting the street outside filled the room. Acantha was intrigued and excited. Did she do that? She turned her attention back to the book and read the next line.

"Adplica sol reditum in hunc oppidum."

The hail ceased. Acantha took a frightened step back. What was happening? She heard rustling in the back room of the shop. She quickly ran to other side of the shop. Theseus exited the room just a few seconds later.

"Acantha?" he asked, peering at her. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, Daddy! Mother says that it's time for lunch."

"Oh, it is lunchtime!" Theseus said, looking at the clock. "I was so busy that I completely lost track of time."

"Busy with what?" asked Acantha curiously. "No one comes here, ever."

"I'll tell you one day, dear." Theseus took her hand in his and they exited the shop together.

* * *

Meanwhile, a few hours north of Paris, Sofia, Maurice, and Belle sat on a little blanket by the pond feasting on bread and cheese. Harriette was grazing in a nearby field. It was a beautiful day, aside from a very brief, very sudden bout of hail they had endured on the journey over. Belle was tearing off pieces of her own bread and throwing them to the ducks in the pond.

"Belle, don't waste food," Sofia admonished her. "You've already given them a whole baguette. Save some for yourself. Don't you want to grow up to be a big strong girl?"

"But they're so cute, Mama!" Belle argued before reluctantly taking a bite of bread.

"Isn't this wonderful," Sofia sighed to Maurice. "Don't you think we should move out to the countryside? We can have lovely little picnics everyday if we wanted to."

"Too much of a good thing will makes us sick of it," Maurice told her. "Things like this are only good in small doses."

A small butterfly landed on Belle's nose just as she was about to another take another bite of her bread. She reached up to touch it, but it flew off before her hand got there. Belle put the bread down and stood up. She scanned the area, spotted the butterfly sitting on a low branch of a tree on the edge of the forest, and started to skip towards it.

"I just think we'll be better off staying in city," Maurice was telling Sofia. "All our friends are there. There are plenty of libraries so Belle is happy."

"But it's so dangerous and dirty in Paris! Belle, what do you think? Don't you like it out here-" Sofia stopped as she noticed her daughter was not sitting next to her. She looked around frantically. "Belle?"

"What's wrong?" asked Maurice.

"Where did Belle go? She was sitting right here a few seconds ago."

"Now, now, she can't have gone far," Maurice soothed, comfortingly patting her on the shoulder. "She's only little."

"We have to find her! I'm not losing another child."

"Don't worry. Belle's a tough little pumpkin. She'll be fine."

Sofia bit her lip and scanned the area.

"She must have gone into the forest. We'll split up. You go right, I'll go left."

* * *

The wolf bared its teeth and snarled. Belle approached the growling creature with a smile.

"Bonjour," she greeted it. "I've never seen wolves that weren't in books before. My name is Belle. What's yours?"

Belle stared at the wolf inquisitively, as if she was actually expecting the wolf to answer her.

"You can't speak either," she sighed. "Neither can our horse. Never mind. I'll give you a name. Everyone should have a name. You can be Josephine. I like that name. Do you like that name? I don't like my name. It's too short. All the heroines in my books have beautiful long names."

* * *

Gerald threw Gaston to the ground. He hated treating his son like this, but the boy had to learn. The fourteen year old sat up and rubbed the blood and dirt from his face.

"I-I'm sorry, Papa," the boy spluttered. "I'll try to hit it next time."

"Stop being so clumsy, boy!" he roared. "Try is a fail word! Are you a failure, Gaston?"

"No, Papa. I will kill it next time."

"That was one of the biggest stags I've ever seen," Gerald screamed. "How could you have let it get away after all I've done for you?"

"Sorry, sir," murmured Gaston, feeling ashamed of himself. How could he have been so foolish?

"Sorry isn't good enough, boy! Stop looking so pathetic. Let's go home."

Gaston slung his gun over his shoulder and began to follow his father home in silence. A stunningly beautiful blonde woman met them on the path just a few moments later.

"Good afternoon," Sofia greeted them.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing all the way out here?" Gerald asked with a wink.

"My little girl is lost," she cried frantically. "Have you seen her?"

Gerald smirked.

"You're the first person we've seen in days."

"Can you help me look for her?" asked Sofia desperately. "She's so little and I'm ever so worried about her."

"What does she look like?" he asked.

"She looks like a smaller version of me, except she's got the loveliest chocolate brown hair."

"She can't be too hard to find," decided Gerald. "We will look for her with you."

"Oh, thank you!" Sofia could have kissed him. "I don't know how I'll be able to repay you, though."

"You know, it gets lonely out here in the woods," Gerald said with a wink. Sofia looked disgusted.

"I'm married! I have a little girl!"

"And? I'm just asking for an hour or two, but you're welcome to stay forever if that isn't enough for you. Your daughter can live with us, if we ever find her," Gerald told her. He glanced at his gun. "And your husband can be taken care of."

Sofia's jaw dropped.

"Are-are you insane?" she stammered, horrified. "I-I love my husband. He has his faults but I'm not going to leave him for anyone."

"Are you sure?"

"Very sure," Sofia confirmed. "I just want to find my little Belle."

"Then please, just hold my hand? I haven't felt the touch of a woman in so long. My dear wife died many years ago leaving my boy and I heartbroken and alone." Gerald gestured to Gaston as he spoke.

Sofia looked from Gerald to his son. Her expression softened.

"Oh, you poor man," she cooed. "I can't imagine what it must like to lose a spouse so young. Of course I'll hold your hand for a moment."

Sofia clasped one of his large hands in both of her tiny ones and stared into Gerald's brilliant blue eyes as Gaston watched on. She smiled warmly at him.

"Do you ever wonder what it's like to be someone else, Josephine?" came a muffled little voice through the trees.

"Belle!" Sofia cried happily. She said a quick good bye to Gerald and Gaston and ran off. She found Belle sitting a few feet away from a snarling wolf, happily recounting the story of the book Sofia had read to her the previous night. Sofia screamed, grabbed Belle by the hand and pulled her away from the creature.

"Mama!" Belle exclaimed, delighted. "Bye bye, Josephine!"

"Belle!" Sofia gasped. "Are you okay?"

"Uh-huh! I am a little bit hungry, though."

"We'll find Papa and finish eating, but you must stay put. I don't want you running off again, young lady."

"Can we get a wolf, Mama?" Belle asked hopefully.

Sofia looked back at the wolf's snarling yellow teeth and shuddered.

"I don't think so, dear. It didn't bite you, did it?"

"No, Mama." Belle shook her head. "She didn't even come near me. She just stood there watching me. She was very nice."

"Belle, wolves are dangerous."

"They are?"

"Yes. They can kill you."

"So can people!"

"Oh, Belle," Sofia sighed.

* * *

_I don't think this chapter's up to my usual standard. It's almost the end of the semester and I've been so busy writing essays and studying for my exams that I've lost all my perspicacity and talent, if I ever had any. I'm completely worn out. Summer break can't come fast enough. I don't think I can take much more of this. _

_Sorry for another fluff chapter. It's all I can write at the moment. Next few chapters will be full of plot, I promise. _


	17. Bleu de France

**Chapter Seventeen**

_August 19th, 1748_

James Potts died just a few days after the birth of his son. He had stayed alive just long enough to hold the boy in his arms and give him a name before taking his final breath. Maggie had wanted to name the new baby after her husband, but James hated the idea of naming children after their parents. Instead they settled on Christopher, after Maggie's beloved father. The new mother did not care what her son's name was. She was just happy to have given birth to a healthy, viable child.

Prince Renaud was greatly saddened by his beloved manservant's death, but he could not let his grief get in the way of business. He quickly arranged a replacement for his deceased majordomo. Cuthbert Cogsworth had worked for a household in Devonshire before he had been summoned to work at the Nivernais castle. A stickler for rules and an unrepentant brownnose, he quickly became unpopular with many of the more frivolous members of the staff.

Meanwhile, Lumiere's attentions had turned to yet another female member of the staff. Fifi Favreau was a newcomer to the staff. Josette's sister Babette, who had been enamoured with Lumiere since his arrival, despised her. A gorgeous blonde maid with a slim body, narrow hips, and no bosom to speak of, she was Babette's polar opposite. Fifi had been assigned to work in the kitchen which, naturally, had to lead to the two of them spending a lot of time together. They would engage in flirtatious, teasing conversations with each other as they performed their duties, and today was no exception. Unfortunately, as always, their fun was interrupted by a certain someone.

"Lumiere! Get back to work!"

"Lighten up, Cogsworth. We were just having fun."

"The master is not paying you to have fun, Lumiere," Cogsworth informed him. "You can flirt with as many women as you want on your own time."

Josette and Babette entered the room. Babette's usually cheerful face twisted into a scowl as she noticed Fifi standing next to Lumiere.

"Ah, good. You two are just in time. Since Lumiere and Fifi cannot control themselves when they are around each other, I want Babette and Fifi to switch roles."

Fifi was less than pleased by this change, though Babette was delighted. She quickly grabbed a nearby washcloth and started to wash the dishes as Cogsworth pushed a mop and bucket into Fifi's hands and sent her out the door. He turned to Josette and gestured towards a tray laden with food.

"Josette, take this out to the master."

Babette gasped and dropped the plate she had been washing on the floor. Josette looked at the tray hesitantly.

"What's wrong, Josette?" asked Cogsworth.

"I-I-I can't do that," she stammered.

"I'll do it," volunteered Babette helpfully.

"No, you have dishes to wash. Josette can do it herself."

After a few moments of hesitation, Josette picked the tray up and took it into the small breakfast nook near the kitchens where Renaud was waiting alone. She carefully placed the tray in front of him before turning away and silently retreating.

"Josette, come back." Josette reluctantly turned around to face Renaud. "Sit down. We need to talk."

"I-I can't."

"Please?"

Josette took a deep breath and sat down at the opposite end of the table.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"I want to be friends."

"We can't be friends, Renaud. I-I still love you."

"And I still love you." Renaud reached out and touched Josette's right hand gently. "I cannot bear to be apart from you any longer."

"What about your wife and child?"

"They're in Paris right now. I don't love Aurelia. I've never loved her. Not like I love you. Please, Josette. I just want to be friends."

"You don't understand. I can't control myself when I'm around you," Josette said carefully. She stood up and walked towards the door. Renaud followed her, managing to grab hold of her wrist before she could get out the door.

"I don't love Aurelia. I love you. Why can't we be together? My great-grandfather had fifteen mistresses."

"Let go of me!" Josette ordered. Renaud complied. "First of all, I am not a disposable pleasure toy. I don't want to be anyone's mistress. Secondly, Aurelia is my friend. I feel like I'm betraying her."

"But I don't love her and I don't think she loves me either," Renaud argued. "She might think she loves me but she doesn't. She was forced into this marriage just like I was."

"But what about your son?" asked Josette.

"I love him, but he won't be affected by our relationship as long as he doesn't find out about it," he told her soothingly, taking both of her hands in his.

"I-I still don't know about this," Josette stammered.

Renaud leaned in to kiss her. Josette found herself kissing him back. She couldn't help herself. Years of repressed physical desires came pouring out, filling every part of her body with lust. Memories flooded back to her. As Renaud pressed his lips to her, she remembered every single aspect of the moment they shared their first kiss together at the age of nine. As the prince fervently tore open her dress, unlaced her stays, and grabbed a hold of one of her round, creamy white breasts she was brought back to the moment they first made love at fourteen.

"No," Josette moaned as Renaud wrestled the rest of her dress off. "We can't do this here. Someone will see us."

Renaud helped Josette pull her dress back on before he took her hand and led her down the hallway, up four flights of stairs, down another hallway and into his bedchambers.

* * *

Belle poked the white mush with her spoon and frowned.

"Come on, darling, eat your breakfast," encouraged Maurice from across the table.

The little girl stuck her bottom lip out and eyed her bowl with disdain.

"I hate porridge," replied Belle with disgust.

"I know," Maurice acknowledged. "But you still have to eat it. You're so thin. You're wasting away to nothing. I don't want my little Belle to disappear."

"Can I have a pastry instead?" asked Belle hopefully. Maurice sighed.

"If you don't eat your porridge then there will be no bedtime stories for a week," he threatened reluctantly. Belle considered this for a moment.

"Fine."

Maurice sighed again. He really did hate using threats to get his daughter to behave, but it was all he could do. Many of the other parents in their neighbourhood would use pain and physical punishments to discipline their children. However, both Sofia and Maurice could not bear the thought of laying a hand on their tiny, doe-eyed, waif-like daughter. Fortunately for them, Belle was a very well behaved little girl most of the time. She was just a picky eater.

"Belle, if you don't finish your breakfast Mama won't take you to see the princess," he told her.

"But-but Papa!" Belle whined. She wrapped her arms around Maurice's stomach and looked up at her father pleadingly, her little doe eyes sparkling pleadingly.

"If you don't eat your breakfast then you don't get to see the princess," he repeated, feeling very proud of himself for not falling for his daughter's techniques. The whole neighbourhood had been abuzz with the news that the princess of a nearby region was going to be visiting a small, picturesque park in their poor little area on her way to Tuileries Palace. Royalty often came to Paris, but they often went out of their way to avoid the poor, working class, crime ridden areas. Belle was especially excited. She read about them in her books but she had never seen a real life princess before. Sofia had promised to take her to see the princess.

Belle pulled away from her father and reluctantly climbed back up onto her chair. Her face twisted into a grimace as she swallowed a big spoonful of porridge. She quickly swallowed another and then another.

"Be careful, darling. You might give yourself a tummy ache if you eat too fast," Maurice warned.

"All gone," she declared, showing Maurice her empty bowl proudly.

"Well done, little doe! Now, go put on your nice dress and wait for Mama to get ready. She wasn't feeling well so she decided to sleep in this morning."

Sofia emerged from her room just seconds after Belle disappeared into her own.

"How did you get Belle to finish her porridge?" she asked, looking delighted as she noticed the empty bowl. "I can never get her to eat all of it myself. Where is she? We need to leave now."

"Are you sure you want to go?" asked Maurice, concerned. "You still look a little pale."

"No, no, I have to go," Sofia insisted. "Belle wants to see the princess. I made a promise and I intend to keep it."

"I can take her," offered Maurice.

"Thank you for the offer, dear, but meeting royalty should be a mother and daughter activity. I hope you don't mind," replied Sofia with a weak smile.

Belle skipped out of her room and bounded towards her mother.

"Look at these flowers I picked, Mama. Do you think the princess will like them?"

"They're very pretty, darling. I'm sure she'll love them," Sofia gushed. "These look familiar. Where did you get them?"

Belle looked guiltily down at her feet.

"Belle, did you pick these flowers out of the Legrands' garden?" Sofia asked sternly. Belle nodded meekly. "That was a very naughty thing for you to do, Belle. That's stealing! I didn't raise my daughter to be a thief. "

"But Mama, they were the only flowers I could find! It's the only house around here with a garden and I'm not allowed to go to the park by myself. I just wanted the princess to like me, Mama. Maybe if she likes me enough she'll take me away to her palace and I can live with her."

"But Papa and I would miss you!"

"You can come too," Belle told them.

"That's a relief," smiled Sofia. "Come on, we'll have to leave now if we want to get there on time. I want you to go over and apologise to Madame Legrand tomorrow, okay?"

* * *

"Oh! Are they here to see us?" gasped Aurelia as the carriage pulled up next to the park and she noticed a small crowd of people standing outside the entrance.

"I suppose they heard you were coming, Madame," replied the driver.

"How did they find out? Who told them?" asked Aurelia, confused. "Well, we mustn't disappoint them. This may be one of the few bright spots in their lives. Come along, Adam."

Adam followed his mother out of the carriage. She strode towards the crowd of people with a smile on her face. Aurelia's eyes fell on a painfully thin little girl clutching a bouquet of daisies in one hand and her mother's hand in the other. Aurelia knelt down next to her.

"Good morning," the princess greeted her gently.

"Good morning, Your Highness," stammered the girl after an obviously well-rehearsed curtsy.

"What's your name?"

"Belle, Ma'am," the little girl replied shyly.

"A beautiful little name for a beautiful little girl."

"Thank you, Princess." Belle held out the flowers to Aurelia. "I picked these for you."

"Oh, they are just lovely!" Aurelia gasped, taking the bouquet from the little girl. "How old are you, Belle?"

"Almost six, Ma'am."

"My son is only a few years older than you are," Aurelia told her, gesturing to Adam.

"Good morning, Your Highness," Belle chirped, dutifully curtseying to the prince.

"Adam, greet this lovely girl like the little gentleman that you are," Aurelia ordered him gently.

"Why? She is redolent and ugly like the rest of the peasants here."

Belle's jaw dropped. Sofia narrowed her eyes and glared down at the little prince.

"Oh Adam," Aurelia giggled slightly. "Don't be silly. She is a pretty little girl." She took her son by the arm and led him into the park. Belle and Sofia stared after them.

"Let's go home, darling. Mama feels faint again. We'll stop by the library and you can borrow a new book," Sofia added quickly, feeling very sorry for her daughter. What an awful little boy. Still, Sofia was not surprised. She had come into contact with similar spoiled and nasty children throughout her own privileged girlhood.

Despite her ill health, Sofia allowed Belle to climb onto her back.

"Mama, they didn't seem very happy," said Belle, the prince's words still ringing in her ears. "I thought princes and princesses were supposed to be happy. They've got castles and moats and lots and lots of horsies and servants. They should be happy."

"People with lots of money aren't always happy, Belle."

"They should be. They can have anything they want."

"Material possessions don't make everyone happy. We don't have much money but we are still happy. Aren't you happy, darling?"

"Yes, but that's because I have you and Papa and my books," replied Belle. "The prince has a Mama and a Papa too, doesn't he? Why isn't he happy?"

"I suppose we'll never understand what it's like to be someone else," mused Sofia.

* * *

"And the beautiful princess married the prince and they lived happily ever after." Sofia closed the book and smiled down at Belle, who was lying in her little bed with the blankets pulled up to her neck.

"What happened next, Mama?" asked the little girl, who had been enthralled by the story her had told her. Sofia thought for a moment.

"They lived in their big castle and ruled over the land and had lots of children," she finally answered.

"Girls or boys?"

"Five little girls just like you," Sofia told her, giving her daughter a big kiss on the forehead.

"Okay," chirped Belle, sounding satisfied with her mother's response. The little girl sat up and stared at her reflection in the window. She furrowed her brow and frowned.

"What's wrong, angel?" asked Sofia, reaching out and tucking piece of hair behind her daughter's ear. Belle turned to face her mother.

"Mama, am I beautiful?" she asked in a very serious tone. Sofia's mouth fell open.

"Why do you ask?"

Belle bit her lip.

"The prince said I was ugly," she explained, choking back tears. "All the heroines in my books are beautiful. I want to be beautiful too."

"All little boys think little girls are ugly," Sofia told her comfortingly.

"I guess," replied Belle despondently. Sofia sighed and stood up.

"You are beautiful, Belle. And I am not just saying that because you are my daughter and I have to. We are both blessed to be physically attractive. This will become more obvious as you get older and men start paying more attention to you. This is by no means a bad thing. Though physical beauty does have its drawbacks, they pale in comparison to the benefits. But I want you to realize that a beautiful heart is more important than a beautiful face. Being physically pleasing does not give you the right to be shallow and nasty to others. I learned that the hard way."

"I'd never be nasty, Mama!" insisted Belle.

"I know that, darling. I want you to understand that you should never, ever judge a book by its cover."

"I don't! I give every book I find a chance no matter what the cover looks like."

"It's just an expression, angel. Your father doesn't look like much, but he's very nice and gentle and sweet. He is attractive in his own odd little way and I'd pick him over the handsomest man in the world any day of the week. Don't marry a man just because he's got a charming smile and a muscular body."

"Don't worry, Mama. I'm never going to get married," Belle told her confidently.

"You say that now, Belle, but one day you will fall in love with someone so wonderful that you're going to have to get married."

"That won't happen," Belle declared. "Boys are disgusting and mean."

"What about Papa? Is he disgusting and mean?"

"Papa's not a boy, Mama!" Belle laughed. "He's too old." Sofia giggled along with her.

"You'll meet your Prince Charming one day, Belle. Then you'll change your mind."

"Not if he's anything like the prince I met today," Belle said, disgusted.

"You can't let one bad experience control your whole life. If I did that then I would not have married your father and you would never have been born. Don't you want to have a child of your own someday?" Sofia asked her. Belle thought about this for a few moments.

"Not really," she said finally. Sofia sighed.

"You're only five now-"

"Five and three quarters," Belle corrected her proudly.

"You're only five and three quarters now," agreed Sofia. "You still have a lot of growing up to do. We will discuss in this in ten years or so. For now, you need to go to sleep. It's nine already! Good night."

"G'night, Mama," Belle yawned.

Sofia blew out the candle sitting on the windowsill and carefully tip toed out into the hallway, taking one last look at her sleeping daughter before closing the door.


	18. Grey

**Chapter Eighteen**

_December 12__th__, 1748_

Adam stared out the window longingly. The castle grounds had been draped with a thick layer of virgin white snow overnight. The little prince desperately wanted to go out and frolic around in the icy paradise, but instead he was stuck inside the library being forced to study against his will. Dimitri, his tutor, was tall and fierce-looking and absolutely terrified the young prince. Adam might actually have enjoyed studying if his tutor wasn't around constantly breathing down his neck.

"Get back to work, Master Adam," Dimitri ordered sternly.

"Why do I have to learn all this stuff anyway? I want to play!" whined Adam.

"You can play once you have finished your studies," Dimitri replied gruffly. "You are going to take your father's place one day. You must study hard in order to be the best ruler that you can be."

The door swung open and the tall, muscular figure of Prince Renaud entered the library. The prince scanned the room, obviously looking for something. His son was delighted to see him.

"Father!" cried Adam happily. He threw the book to one side and scampered up to Renaud.

"Adam." Renaud nodded to his son.

"What are you doing here?"

"I am looking for someone."

"Mother?" asked Adam curiously.

"No, Adam," Renaud smiled weakly. "Not your mother. What are you studying today?"

"Geography," Adam groaned. "Why do I have to learn about Spain and Italy anyway? We don't live there."

"I thought the same thing when I was your age, son," laughed Renaud, ruffling his son's honey blonde hair.

"My daughters are in the kitchen, Master," Dimitri told the elder prince before he addressed his pupil sternly. "As for you, Master Adam, you will not be permitted to leave this room until you have finished reading chapters sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen."

With a heavy groan, Adam reluctantly returned to the writing desk and sat beside his tutor as Renaud thanked Dimitri. The elder prince swiftly exited the library and headed towards the kitchens where he found Josette and Babette standing together by the windows overlooking the grounds, each wearing a disapproving expression on their respective faces.

"What are you two looking at?" he asked, slipping his arms around Josette's stomach.

"Lumiere and Fifi are playing in the snow together," explained Josette.

"Jealousy doesn't befit a lady, Babette," Renaud joked.

"Adultery doesn't befit a gentleman, Renaud," Babette quipped, not taking her eyes off Lumiere and Fifi. Josette sniggered

"I deserved that," Renaud admitted quietly to himself.

"What do you want, Renaud?" asked Josette, turning around to face her lover.

"Well, I don't have anything to do right and you don't seem to be doing anything so I thought we could-"

"Renaud, you only ever think about one thing," Josette sighed.

"I only want to physically express my love to you. Is that a crime?"

"There are other things we can do together you know."

"Like what? We can't do anything in public. I thought you didn't want anyone to find out about us?"

"We can talk," suggested Josette.

"We do talk. We're talking right now!" Renaud pointed out. Josette groaned.

"Fine, but we need to be quick. I have a floor to scrub."

"Get someone else to do it. A beautiful goddess like yourself should not be scrubbing floors," Renaud told her.

"Unfortunately not all of us were born into royalty, Renaud," Josette snapped.

"Hey! I was only trying to compliment you."

"I'm sorry," Josette sighed. "I'm just on edge. I hate going behind Aurelia's back."

"Don't worry," Renaud soothed. "She will never find out."

"That doesn't make it okay," replied Josette.

"I never said it did." Renaud took Josette's hand and led her out of the kitchen and towards his bedchamber.

* * *

"Good morning, Adam. Good morning, Dimitri," greeted Aurelia cheerfully when she found the two of them in the library.

"Good morning, Mistress," said Dimitri, glancing up quickly. Adam merely grunted and turned a page.

"Adam? Would you like to have a picnic with me in the garden?" asked Aurelia sweetly. "We can play in the snow together and have lots of fun."

"No," Adam replied coldly. Aurelia's face fell.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Please?"

Aurelia just didn't understand why her son seemed to dislike her so much. She had tried everything she could to get him to like her. Separating him from Mrs Potts hadn't worked. Bribing him with treats hadn't worked. He refused to let her hug him or kiss him. What did he want from her?

"Come on. We can play in the snow and have lots of fun. We'll ask your father to come with us and we can have a lovely family outing, just the three of us." Aurelia took the book from Adam's grasp and carefully laid it down on the desk. She grabbed her son by the hand and started pulling him towards the door.

"I still have studying to do, Mother," Adam insisted

"He's right, Mistress," said Dimitri coolly.

"Oh, he can do that later," replied Aurelia with a small laugh. "This is much more important."

Aurelia pulled her son all the way up to Renaud's bedchambers, after quickly checking his study and two of the dining rooms. Maintaining a tight grip on her son's arm, she knocked on her husband's door with her free hand.

"Renaud?" she called. "Renaud, are you in there?" Without waiting for a response, Aurelia pushed the door open, not expecting the shocking sight that was waiting for her. Renaud and Josette lay on the bed, locked in a furious, passionate kiss. Aurelia's jaw fell to the floor. Adam peered into the room curiously. Renaud quickly pushed Josette off him.

"Aurelia!" he shrieked. "W-what are you doing here?"

"Aurelia!" Josette gasped. Inwardly, she was thankful that she still had her clothes on. "It's not what it looks like! Actually, it is what it looks like, but I can explain!"

Aurelia just stared at them, too shocked to speak. Renaud quickly stood, took her by the wrist, and pulled her into a nearby guest bedroom. He sat her down on the bed and waited for her to come to her senses.

"I-I thought you loved me," she croaked after a few moments.

Renaud stared at her.

"Loved you?" he repeated incredulously. "We were forced to get married. I never loved you. We barely even talk now. I haven't touched you in years. Stop living in a fairy tale, Aurelia."

"You're my husband. You're supposed to love me," she sobbed.

"You really thought I would be faithful to you?" Renaud asked, resisting the urge to laugh. "I don't love you, I never have and I most likely never will. Face it, Aurelia: Royals are unfaithful to their spouses. There isn't a man in our family who hasn't been unfaithful to his wife. Even my father, who loved and cherished my mother, had four mistresses during his marriage. I have only had one. Compared to my ancestors, I'm doing pretty well."

"I c-can't believe t-that whore pretended to be my friend," Aurelia wailed. "I trusted her and she betrayed me. She is a filthy, lying whore." Unfortunately, this set Renaud over the edge.

"Josette is not a whore," the prince roared. "She is the kindest, sweetest, most selfless woman on the planet. She is the only woman I have ever loved. She is my soul mate, and I refuse to live in the same castle as someone who thinks she is a whore. I only married you to make my father happy. I never wanted to be a prince. I never wanted to rule. Well, my father is dead now and I don't need to make him happy anymore."

Renaud flung open the door, strode into his bedroom, and grabbed Josette by the hand.

"Josette, we're going," he told her.

"Where are we going?" Josette asked, confused. However, she allowed Renaud to lead her down the hall and towards the entrance hall. Mrs Potts, who had been about to take her four year old son for a walk in the garden, met them on the stairs,

"Master, where are you going?" she asked, alarmed.

"I'm leaving!" he told them furiously. Cogsworth quickly waddled into the room and joined them on the stairs.

"Where are you going? When will you be back?" he asked breathlessly.

"I'm never coming back," Renaud declared. "I'm sick of being a prince. I'm tired of being forced to do things I don't want to do. I want to have a normal life."

"W-what? But what about the crown?" stammered Cogsworth, shocked. "What about your duties?"

Renaud glanced over at Adam who was standing at the top of the stairs, watching the scene play out before him.

"The boy is old enough to take over," he told them coolly.

"But he is only nine years old!" cried Mrs Potts.

"My great-great-grandfather was eleven months old when he inherited the crown and he was one of the best rulers this region has ever known."

"Are you sure?" asked Cogsworth. Renaud ascended the stairs and knelt down next to his son. He wrapped his arms around Adam and enveloped him into a tight hug.

"Adam, you're in charge now," he whispered. "Make your father proud."

"Yes, Father," Adam replied, though the small boy was still not entirely sure what was going on.

Renaud smiled at him one last time and descended back down the stairs. He and Josette left the castle together hand in hand, slamming the door shut behind them. Once they were outside, Josette turned to face Renaud, a serious expression on her face.

"Renaud, that was an incredibly foolish thing for you to do," she told him. "Where are we going to go? What are we going to do?"

"I don't know and I don't care."

"You have no skills and no training. You've been a prince your entire life. You don't know what it's like to live as a commoner. How are we going to support ourselves, Renaud?" she asked critically.

"We will find a way," replied Renaud, taking her by the hand and pulling her towards the horse stables.

"You can't just abandon your duties like that," Josette pointed out.

"I don't want to be a prince. I just wasn't cut out to be a ruler. I produced an heir. My only role in life was to have a child and I did that. I just want to be with you. I can't stay here."

"But what about your son? Won't you miss him?" asked Josette.

"Yes," Renaud admitted. "But he'll understand why I had to leave one day. Josette, I just want to be with you. Now are you coming with me or not?"

Josette looked back at the castle. She would be leaving behind her family and her friends. There was a good chance that she would never see her father or sister ever again. On the other hand, if she stayed she would have to face the judgemental stares and whispers of her fellow servants and the contempt of her mistress. And though she disapproved of his actions, she really did love Renaud.

"Renaud, promise me we'll stick together. Promise you won't abandon me no matter what happens," Josette pleaded.

"Have I ever abandoned you before? I will never, ever leave your side," Renaud promised Josette, taking both of her hands in his. "We'll find a way to make this work, I promise. It will be hard at first, but we will persevere. And, most importantly, we will do this together. We are equals."


	19. Red

**Chapter Nineteen**

_December 12th, 1748_

Josette and Renaud's sudden departure had left the remainder of the castle residents in a state of uncertainty. Cogsworth anxiously paced around the foyer wringing his hands and muttering to himself. Adam sat stony-faced on the bottom step of the grand staircase, staring at the enormous pair of wooden doors. Mrs Potts sat next to him, stroking the little prince's back soothingly as Chip, her young son, watched them with a very confused expression on his face. Aurelia stood at the top of the stairs, too shocked to speak.

"This is not good!" Cogsworth moaned. "What are we going to do? Prince Adam is too young to rule."

"Now, now, Cogsworth, calm down," soothed Mrs Potts as she pulled the young prince into a comforting embrace. "Everything will be alright. We just need to find someone who can act as a regent until the little one is old enough to fulfil his duties."

"Who? Prince Adam and Prince Renaud are the only surviving members of their family line," Cogsworth pointed out.

Babette and Lumiere, who had heard all the commotion in the kitchen, rushed into the foyer.

"What's going on?" asked Babette.

"The master has run off with your sister," Cogsworth informed her primly.

"Oh." Babette frowned slightly.

"You don't sound too shocked," Cogsworth remarked, confused.

"It was bound to happen one day," said Babette with a shrug. "I'm just surprised that it didn't happen sooner."

Dimitri entered the room wearing an annoyed expression on his face.

"Mistress, please, the prince has studying to do," he informed the princess indignantly.

Lumiere and Cogsworth exchanged worried glances.

"Monsieur I-I think you should know that-" Cogsworth stammered, unsure of how to tell him. "Y-your daughter has-"

"Josette's gone, Papa!" Babette blurted out.

"What?" Dimitri frowned. "Gone where?"

"I can't believe I fell for her tricks," Aurelia spat furiously as she descended down the stairs towards Dimitri. "That filthy strumpet pretended to be my friend for eleven long years! She should be working on the streets of Paris, not in the home of the royal family."

"So I take it Josie and Renaud have finally run off together," Dimitri said with a rare grin.

"You're happy about this? Your daughter is a dirty harlot!" Aurelia screamed at him, her face turning redder than Cogsworth's wig.

"My daughter is not a harlot," Dimitri told her as calmly as he could muster. "She is a beautiful, kind, caring, and sweet girl who has given up so much to make other people – including you – happy."

"How can you defend her after what she did to me?" Aurelia screeched at him.

"She is my daughter and I don't believe she did anything wrong," Dimitri boomed, filling the entire foyer with his menacing voice. "Josette and Renaud have been inseparable since they were babies. They were together a long time before you came along. In fact, I believe that your husband is the only man my daughter has ever made love to."

Lumiere chuckled and nervously tugged at his collar.

"Josette is a wonderful girl who lost her mother at a young age and gave up her childhood to take care of her baby sister," Dimitri continued. "I would appreciate it if you didn't speak about her like that."

"Get out!" Aurelia screamed. "Get out! You're fired."

Dimitri let out a heavy sigh, pulled open the heavy wooden doors, and strode outside into snow. He had almost reached the bridge when he heard his daughter's voice call out to him. He turned to see Babette running up to him.

"Papa! Let me come with you!" Babette pleaded.

"You're better off here, baby," he told her

"But if you're gone and Josette's gone, I'll be all alone!"

"You're a grown woman now, Babette. Be strong. I love you," Dimitri whispered, pulling his youngest daughter into a tight hug. "I will miss you."

"Are you going to look for Josette?" Babette asked.

Dimitri nodded stiffly. "Hopefully I will see her again. I will miss you, Babette."

"I will miss you too, Papa." Babette stood in the doorway watching her father cross the bridge, walk through the gates, and disappear into the deep, dark forest.

* * *

_December 25__th__, 1748_

"Good morning, my little angel!"

Adam opened his eyes and looked blearily up at his mother. Aurelia was standing over his bed, beaming down at her son with an enormous, warm smile on her face.

"Mother?" Adam sat up and rubbed his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"It's Christmas, darling!" Aurelia chirped cheerily. "You've got lots and lots of gifts to open!"

"Okay." Adam yawned, rolled over on his side, and snuggled against his pillows.

"Don't you want to come down and open your presents, darling?" Aurelia asked sweetly.

"Not really."

"Please?" Aurelia implored hopefully.

"No! Go away!" Adam sat up and threw one of the many silk pillows that lived on his bed at his mother.

Mrs Potts, who had been passing by the west wing staircase on her way to breakfast when she heard the prince's outburst, came bustling in.

"Perhaps I can help, ma'am," she offered. She kneeled down next to the bed and spoke gently to the young boy. "Adam, love, please come down and open your presents."

"I don't want to!"

"Please? Will you do it for me?" Mrs Potts pleaded. Adam sat up and considered this for a few moments.

"Well, okay," he finally said. The prince forced himself out of bed and allowed Mrs Potts to help him dress as Aurelia watched them. Together, the three of them made their way down to the first floor parlour where Aurelia had a decorated a modest pine tree. A large pile of packages of all shapes and sizes sat underneath the tree. Aurelia picked up a large square package that was wrapped in bright blue paper and tied with a gold ribbon and handed it to her son. Adam slowly tore open the package and frowned as held out its contents: a child-sized royal blue suit with gold trims, not unlike the one his father used to wear.

"Well, what do you think, Adam?" Aurelia asked in her most motherly tone.

"I hate it. It reminds me of Father." Adam threw it to the floor and picked up another package.

"Why are you being so hostile to me, darling?" asked Aurelia, holding back tears.

Adam looked his mother directly in the eyes and spoke slowly and with great antipathy.

"Because I hate you."

Mrs Potts gasped. Aurelia knelt down next to her son and looked at him pleadingly.

"I don't think you know how powerful that word is, angel," she said gently, trying as hard as she could not to cry. "I love you, Adam! I only want what's best for you. You are my little baby. I don't understand."

"If it weren't for you, Father would still be here. It's all your fault he left us," Adam screamed. He threw the half-opened package down on the floor and stormed out.

"Come back, Adam. You don't understand!" Aurelia called after him.

"It's not your fault, madame," murmured Mrs Potts comfortingly, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and handing it to the princess. "You were too busy to spend time with the boy when he was younger. That is not your fault, of course. You had duties to attend to. He's just not used to you. He will come to appreciate you in time. Besides, he is still coming to terms with his new role."

"I suppose you are right," sighed Aurelia who still sounded somewhat unconvinced by Mrs Potts' kind reassurances.

* * *

Babette ignored the hushed whispers and sniggers of a nearby group of older maids and escaped into the kitchen. She poured a big pot of boiling hot water into a wash basin before dumping a load of breakfast dishes in with it. She picked up a rough, worn out old sponge and began to furiously scrub a china plate. She had tried to keep a stiff upper lip over the previous two weeks, but the judgmental glares and whispers she received from her fellow servants were beginning to wear her down.

"Good morning, Babette!" Lumiere greeted her as he strode into the kitchen.

Babette ignored him and continued to scrub the plate.

"Good morning, Babette!" Lumiere said again.

"What do you want?" Babette snapped.

"Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed," muttered Lumiere. "Cheer up! It's Christmas. Did you have a bad night last night? That's a shame. I had a wonderful night."

"Which one of the maids did you spend the night with?" Babette sighed.

"Who says I spent the night with one of the maids?"

Babette raised an eyebrow.

"Fifi," Lumiere admitted.

"You two seem to be spending a lot of time together."

"She is a good friend," replied Lumiere.

"Most friends don't do what you two do together," Babette pointed out.

"It's just a bit of fun," Lumiere shrugged. "Anyway, why do you care?"

Truth be told, Babette was bothered by the fact that Lumiere had seemingly wooed and briefly courted almost every available woman in the castle except for her. What was it about her that turned him off? She got plenty of attention from the other men in the castle so she was definitely not unsightly or malodorous.

"It might just be a bit of fun to you, but Fifi clearly wants something more." Babette pointed out, ignoring his question. "I can tell by the way she looks at you. And I've heard her talking to the other maids. She wants a marriage and babies."

"Marriage? Babies?" Lumiere's face went white.

"You don't want to get married and have children?" asked Babette.

"I've never really thought about it," Lumiere admitted thoughtfully. "To be honest, I don't want any of that. I love women, but I don't want to be tied down to one for the rest of my life. And I like children, but I do not think that I would make a very good father."

"I think I'd like to get married, but I don't really want to have children," Babette told him. "My mother died giving birth to me. I don't want to end up like her."

"Fair enough," said Lumiere. "Anyway, what was bothering you? You seemed upset when I came in."

"Oh." Babette looked down at the plate she had been washing for the past ten minutes. "It was nothing."

"It was clearly not nothing," insisted Lumiere. "What's wrong? Tell me."

Babette sighed and turned around to face him. "I don't think I can take this anymore," she admitted, her face turning red. Tears began to well up in her eyes. "Everywhere I go I hear snide whispers and laughs. Every room goes quiet as soon as I walk into it. It's like everyone expects me to do what Josette did. Or what they thought she did. I am not a home wrecker and she isn't one either."

"Don't worry. I know," Lumiere assured her, taking her in his arms. Babette pressed her face into his shoulder. She heard the door swing open and she looked up to find Fifi Favreau staring at them.

"Oh, Fifi!" Lumiere exclaimed. Babette quickly tore herself away from Lumiere and returned to her dishes. "I was just comforting Babette. What brings you here?"

* * *

Aurelia burrowed her hot, reddened face into the tear-soaked pillow and ignored the loud, incessant knocking at her door.

"Mistress?" called the muffled voice of one the younger maids. "You've been in there all day. Are you sure you don't want something to eat?"

"Yes!" Aurelia sobbed. "Please leave me be!"

Aurelia listened to the maid's footsteps becoming fainter and fainter as she walked down the hall. She pulled the blanket over her head and pulled it all around her like a cocoon. Aurelia had known, of course, that Adam had never been quite fond of her, but she had always held onto a faint glimmer of hope that he would one day learn to love her as much as she loved him. It was not until she heard those dreadful words come out of his mouth did she realise how he truly felt about her. She did not blame her son for disliking her. She had not spent enough time with him when he was younger. Aurelia knew that was not necessarily her fault either. She had fallen ill just after he was born. She had not been able to bond with him as a baby, and by the time her health had returned he had already had a maternal bond with another woman. Then she became too busy with royal duties to spend time with her son. Aurelia did feel guilty for tearing Adam and Mrs Potts apart. She had been there for him when Aurelia was sick. She had been more of a mother to Adam than his real mother ever had.

Aurelia felt ignorant and stupid. How could she not have noticed that Renaud was in love with Josette? It all seemed so obvious now. Aurelia was a fool for thinking Renaud could ever learn to love her. They had both been forced into marriage. If it was true that Renaud and Josette had loved each other before she came along, then Aurelia was the other woman, not Josette. Aurelia had read so many books about people in arranged marriages who eventually learned to love each other. She had mistakenly thought that this would happen for her and Renaud. But life was not a fairy tale. Aurelia knew that now.

It was all becoming clear now. Every decision in her life had been made for her. Aurelia was nothing more than a pawn. She had been forced into marriage by her parents, forced into parenthood by Renaud's father, and forced into the background of her son's life by her own body. What lay ahead for her now that Renaud was gone for good? She had no money or property of her own. Josette had been her only friend and now she was gone too. Aurelia had nothing to look forward to other than growing old, decrepit, and lonely. Her son was well within his right to throw her out onto the streets and she would not be surprised if he did.

Aurelia sat up and pulled the blanket away from her face. Her eyes fell on the door that lead out to the balcony. A horrible, yet thrilling thought entered her mind. For the first time in her life she was going to control her own life. She was going to choose her own path and her destiny for once.

* * *

"Babette!" Babette turned around to see Fifi standing at the end of the hall. The other maid strode up to her and put her face just inches away from Babette's. "Stay away from him."

"Stay away from whom? Lumiere? You've got nothing to worry about there, trust me," Babette assured her.

"I can't trust you. You're just like your sister," said Fifi, narrowing her eyes.

"Yes, I am like my sister," declared Babette proudly. "She is a beautiful, strong, and intelligent woman and I am proud to be like her."

"She is also a whore," muttered Fifi.

"What did you say?" Babette fumed.

"Your sister is a whore," Fifi replied tauntingly. Babette raised her right hand and slapped Fifi across the face. The maid recoiled in pain.

"Never say anything like that about my sister again!" Babette ordered furiously. "Josette isn't just my sister. She was like a mother to me and I love her like one."

Babette strode away and headed towards Aurelia's bedchambers. She knocked loudly on the door and waited for a response. After waiting for several minutes and hearing no response, Babette knocked again.

"Mistress, it is time for dinner!" she called. "Mistress? Are you in there?"

Babette waited for a few more minutes before she became curious. She gently pushed open the door and looked around the room. Aurelia was nowhere to be found. Babette was just about to leave the room when she noticed that the door that lead out to the balcony was open. Babette moved forward to close when she caught sight of Aurelia standing on the railing, looking down at the grounds.

"Mistress, no!" Babette screamed and rushed out onto the balcony. She was too late. Aurelia jumped just before Babette reached the place where she had stood.

The fall felt like it lasted an eternity, yet it was the most thrilling thing that Aurelia had ever experienced. However, as soon as her legs left the railing she began to feel the most awful pang of regret. It was not right to leave her son, even if he did hate her. He was only nine years old. There was a chance his feelings about her would change. And even if he never felt anything more than contempt for her, it was selfish of her to just leave him motherless, especially if his father was gone.

Her body finally hit the cold, icy ground. It was the awful pain she had ever felt. Not even Adam's birth had been this painful. As she felt her skull crack open and felt blood trickle down her skin, she comforted herself with the thought of the servants. At least they would still be around to protect her son.

Lumiere and Cogsworth had been arguing over Christmas dinner when a white-faced Babette had run screaming into the staff dining hall. After they finally managed to calm her down, she breathlessly informed them of Aurelia's suicide. Lumiere and Cogsworth abandoned their dinners to search for the princess's body. After a twenty minute search in the dark, they eventually found her. Blood from her head and neck was spurting out of her body, staining the nearby snow a shade of dark red. Her once sparkling blue eyes stared up at them lifelessly. Mrs Potts, who had been comforting Babette, came out to join them a few moments later.

"This is just dreadful," said Mrs Potts, bending down to brush the hair away from Aurelia's face. "How are we going to tell the little one?"

"We will tell him in the morning," said Cogsworth decisively. "It is best we let him get some sleep now."

After breakfast the next morning, Mrs Potts took Adam out into the rose garden.

"Now Adam, come here and sit next to me," she ordered gently as she sat down on a stone bench. Adam obliged. Mrs Potts stroked his hair lovingly for a few moments. "Adam, I have to tell you something," she began nervously. "Now, I don't want you think that this was your fault, because it most definitely was not." She paused for a few moments, unsure of how to break the news to him. "Adam, your mother passed away last night."

"Where did she go?" asked Adam innocently.

"No, darling. I mean your mother died last night," Mrs Potts corrected him gently.

"Oh." Adam stared a nearby flock of small birds as he processed this information. "I am glad that she is dead," he said finally.

"Oh, you don't mean that, love," Mrs Potts whispered, pulling him into a warm hug. "You will regret those words later on."

Later that day, a search party was despatched to search for Renaud whom the servants hoped would return to the castle to resume his duties, or at least act as a regent for the young prince. The party returned a week later having found no sign of the prince's father. Four days after New Years, Aurelia's mother and two of her brothers arrived at the castle for Aurelia's funeral. They sat together with Adam in the tiny little chapel on the right of the castle, all four of them completely stony-faced as Pere Hebert, the same priest who had married Renaud and Aurelia ten years previously, performed the service. The princess was laid to rest in the rose garden, just beside her favourite pink gallica bush.

Aurelia's family left just after the funeral finished. They had not, as many of the servants had expected them to, offered to take Adam back to live with them. The prince watched from his balcony as their carriage made its way over the bridge and into the forest. Mrs Potts joined him.

"Are you alright, love?" she asked, leaning down and putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Yes," said the boy gruffly.

"You don't sound alright," said Mrs Potts. "Let me give you a cuddle."

"Leave me alone," demanded Adam, pushing her away violently.

"But Adam-"

"Get out!" he ordered, pointing towards the door. With a defeated sigh, Mrs Potts left the room. She was halfway down the hall, when a wave of curiosity and maternal instinct came over her. She tiptoed back to Adam's doors and carefully pushed one open a crack. Her heart broke as she saw Adam burying his face into his pillow as loud, muffled sobs filled the enormous room.

* * *

_THIS IS THE LAST SUICIDE IN THIS STORY I PROMISE!_

_First of all, I do know that Christmas trees were not introduced into France until the mid 19th century. In my defence: 1. There were Christmas trees in the Enchanted Christmas(I don't consider that movie canon but w/e) and 2. Aurelia comes from an ambiguously German kingdom. She could have introduced that tradition into the castle. _

_A big thank you to everyone who answered my survey. I was a bit surprised by some of the answers, though(for example, the character who got the most "votes" in the biggest tool category was NOT who I expected it to be). For those of you who were wondering: Yes, we will be seeing Josette and Renaud again, but it won't be for a while. _

_I really did NOT want to kill Aurelia, but I had always planned on her committing suicide. I couldn't just chicken out at the last minute. I've grown rather attached to her. I honestly feel like a murderer right now. However, this is not the last we're going to be seeing of her. What does that mean? You'll have to wait until the sequel to find out. _

_This story is moving so fast. I can't believe it. The next chapter revolves around a certain pivotal event(if I don't get lazy and write another fluff chapter that is). I can't believe we're up to this part of the story already._

_Happy December!_


	20. Emerald

**Chapter Twenty**

_December 23rd, 1749_

The servants never gave up on their search for Renaud and Josette. They journeyed all over France looking for the couple but to no avail. There was no sign of them anywhere. It was like they had disappeared altogether.

Meanwhile, Adam was becoming unbearable. Previously, the boy had been merely insolent and rude. Now he was positively recalcitrant. The ten year old boy had turned into a tyrant. Not even Mrs Potts could control him. The servants learned quickly to never discuss either of his parents in his presence. An innocent young maid had made that mistake in February and had paid dearly for it. The mere mention of his mother's name had been enough to drive the young prince into an unstoppable rage. The maid had been verbally abused and belittled and subsequently banished from the castle. From that moment on, the servants lived in fear of their ten year old master.

After almost an entire year had gone by and Renaud still hadn't been found, the servants decided that something had to be done. Adam had no interest in carrying out his royal duties and the servants felt that he was too young to hold such an important position. On the first day of December, Adam and Cogsworth travelled to Versailles to meet with the king. After listening to Cogsworth explain the complicated situation to him, the king arranged for one of his cousins to act as a regent for Adam until he turned twenty-one. This would provide adequate time for the prince to be educated and find a spouse.

Vicious blizzards delayed their return home for several weeks. When the weather finally cleared up and they set off on their journey, a fallen tree in the middle of the road forced them to make a detour through the little village near the castle. Other than that, the journey had been smooth and uneventful. Adam stared quietly out of the window for most of the trip and Cogsworth sat next to him, bracing himself for a sudden explosion of the prince's temper. Then the carriage came to a sudden halt, throwing both of them to ground.

"What was that?" Adam demanded.

"I-I don't know, master. Perhaps there is another tree in the road?" suggested Cogsworth meekly.

Adam ignored him and climbed out of the carriage. A young girl who looked to be around the same age as Adam himself stood in the middle of the road, staring up at the horses curiously. Adam strode towards her, his face growing very red.

"Master, please!" Cogsworth called, running frantically after Adam.

"What is wrong with you?" Adam screamed.

"I-I'm sorry," the girl stammered, terrified.

"Master, please get back in the carriage," pleaded Cogsworth. "She's just a little girl. She didn't mean any harm."

"What kind of fool just stands in the middle of street when there's a carriage coming towards you?" roared Adam.

"I didn't see you coming, I swear!" cried the girl as tears streamed down her red cheeks. "Please let me go. I have to go home to help my mother."

* * *

The most difficult challenge that Ariana had to face when she first decided to settle down and play the part of a normal mortal housewife and mother was learning how to cook without using magic. It was hard at first, but after a few fires and a bit of blood, Ariana became quite an accomplished cook, though the other women in the village did not take to her rather peculiar recipes(many of which she claimed had been passed down from her ancestors). Nevertheless, Theseus and their daughters had grown quite fond of her cooking.

It was the last day of Saturnalia and Ariana had invited her sister and Theseus's great uncle over for a feast. She spent the whole morning laying out the ingredients, collecting wood for the oven, and polishing the silverware. At eleven o'clock, she heard the door open and looked up from the knife she had been sharpening to find Phaedra and Acantha entering the kitchen.

"Ah, girls, you're here. Acantha, you can start chopping up the durians and the goatsbeard. Be careful, though. The knife is sharp. Phaedra, you de-petal the tulips, juice the kiwanos, and peel the pomegranates. Xanthia, you can-" Ariana stopped mid-sentence and looked around, confused. "Where is Xanthia?"

"She went off to play on her own," Acantha shrugged.

"What did you girls do to her?" Ariana asked, narrowing her eyes.

"We didn't do anything," Acantha insisted. "She just wanted to play on her own."

"I wish you were nicer to your sister, Acantha," Ariana sighed. "Xanthia's a gentle, timid soul. She's not as strong-willed as you and Phaedra are. I'm going out to look for her. You stay here and start working."

"But I'm hungry," whined Phaedra.

"No eating until the feast tonight," Ariana told her. "I want you eat as much food as possible. We always make too much. I don't want any of it to go to waste."

"Why don't we just make less food," grumbled Phaedra.

"I'll be back soon. Don't burn the house down," Ariana called from the door. She closed the door and walked out onto the main street of the village where she almost collided with Michel Desrosiers.

"Merry Christmas, Madame Devin," greeted Michel kindly. "Oh wait- You don't celebrate Christmas, do you? What was that holiday you told me about? Jupitermas, I think it was."

"Saturnalia," Ariana corrected him.

"Ah yes. It's Greek, isn't it?"

"Italian, actually," replied Ariana. "You haven't seen Xanthia around, have you? We've lost her. She's the shy, meek one who wears a yellow dress."

"Xanthia?" repeated Michel. "Oh yes, I saw her playing in the trees near my house."

"Oh, I am sorry about that," Ariana said apologetically. "I'm always telling my girls to stay off other people's properties but they never listen."

"I don't mind," Michel replied, smiling. "She can play there if she wants to."

"You're a nice young man," Ariana said, smiling back. "Tell me, who are you spending Christmas with?"

"I'm all alone for Christmas, unfortunately," Michel told her. "I had been meaning to visit my brother in Paris. I haven't seen my niece since she was a baby, but both of my horses are sick and I cannot go."

"That is a shame," Ariana lamented. An idea entered her mind. "Ooh! Would you like come over and have dinner with us on that day? We're going to have a lot of food left over from the feast. I'd invite you to the feast tonight, but Theseus's uncle is coming and, between you and me, he can be a bit of a bore. I wouldn't want to put you through that torture."

"Thank you, Madame Devin," said Michel. "You are very kind."

"Well you are very welcome, Michel. I have to go now. I left my other two girls alone in the kitchen."

Ariana and Michel said their good byes and she continued on her way. As she reached the edge of the village she was met with a horrifying sight. Xanthia was standing in the middle of the road being screamed at by a boy that Ariana recognised as the prince who lived nearby.

"Xanthia!" Ariana called frantically, rushing towards her daughter. "What's wrong? What happened? Are you alright?"

"Mama!" Xanthia cried, burying her face into Ariana's stomach. Adam groaned in disgust and stomped back to the carriage. Ariana glared at Cogsworth.

"Please accept my apology, Madame," he said to her timidly. "My master has an awful temper."

"What's wrong with you?" Ariana demanded. "Why didn't you stop him?"

"We cannot discipline him," answered Cogsworth. "He is our master."

"Where are his parents? Why can't they control him?"

"His father is missing and his mother is dead, Madame," explained Cogsworth.

"Then you should punish him yourself," Ariana told him. "Children need discipline."

"I wish it were that easy, Madame," sighed Cogsworth. "He is in charge. We have tried to control him, but he has the power to dismiss anyone who goes against him." He glanced back at the carriage. "We have to go now. Again, I apologise."

Ariana watched the carriage pull away from them and disappear into the distance as Xanthia continued to cry into her stomach.

"Come on, Xanthia," she said finally. "Let's go home. We have a lot of work to do before the feast tonight. Uncle Theophanes and Aunty Anthousa will be here in a few hours."

"Uncle Theophanes?" groaned Xanthia, looking up at her mother. "He's so old and boring, even more so than Daddy."

"Xanthia, please do not speak that way about your elders," Ariana told her sharply.

"But he is old and boring, Mother!" protested Xanthia.

"I know he is," Ariana acknowledged. "But you still shouldn't say things like that. Besides, he always brings you girls good presents, doesn't he?"

"I guess so," Xanthia conceded.

"Good." Ariana looked up at the grey sky and frowned. "It looks like there is going to be another storm tonight. Come on, we have to get home. I don't like leaving your sisters alone in the kitchen for too long."

After a long afternoon of cooking, Ariana, Theseus, their daughters, and their guests sat down to their feast. Anthousa, Ariana's wreckless and flighty sister, regaled them with stories of her travels and her various male companions. Uncle Theophanes bored them to sleep with a lecture about Ancient Roman architecture. Ariana couldn't pay attention to either of them, though. She could not stop thinking about the prince. This had not been the first time she had seen the young royal behaving like this. The boy needed to be disciplined, and since his servants would not do it, it was up to her. But a mere slap on the wrist would not work for him. A child like him required a much more extreme punishment.

A vicious snowstorm forced them to stay inside all of the next day. This made the triplets very restless and they spent the whole running around the house, shrieking, and partaking in similarly noisy activities. Ariana still could not stop thinking about the prince. She knew exactly what had to be done, but she still had some doubts. He was just a child. She would be taking his whole youth away from him. Perhaps she could just him a warning? No, she told herself firmly. She had to go through with it. It was her duty to do so. Besides, it was a perfect opportunity to try out a spell she had always wanted to try but had never gotten a chance to. It was a little harsh, but it was perfect for the situation. And if the prince had a bit of trouble breaking the curse, she could always give him some "outside help".

That night, after she had finished cleaning up after dinner, Ariana put on her best robes. They were a stunning shade of emerald green with hints of pine green and could adapt to any form she took on. They had been a present from her father for her one hundred and fiftieth birthday and she only wore them on special occasions.

"Where are you going, dear?" asked Theseus as Ariana passed through the living room on her way to the front door.

"I'm just going out for a short walk," replied Ariana. "I'll be back soon."

"In the middle of a snowstorm?" asked Theseus incredulously. "And why are you wearing your good robes?"

"We've been cooped up in here all day. I need to get out of the house. I'll be back in time to put the girls to bed. And why can't I wear my good robes?" demanded Ariana defensively. "They're warm, they make me feel pretty, and they're lightweight. I like wearing them."

"Whatever you say, dear," sighed Theseus. "Just make sure you come home in one piece."

* * *

Adam stalked purposefully down the hallway, glaring at his servants as he passed them. He angrily eyed a pair of maids having a conversation at the top of the stairs.

"What are you doing? Get back to work. I'm not paying you to loiter," he growled.

Adam glared at them and strode on. He entered one of the dining rooms and found a bowl of celery soup and a mug of hot cocoa waiting for him. He sat down at the table and frowned.

"Lumiere!" he screamed.

Lumiere entered the room from the adjacent kitchen wearing a tired, put upon expression.

"Yes, Master," he answered wearily.

"You forgot my bread. I need to eat bread with my soup, Lumiere," Adam barked.

"I am sorry, Master," sighed Lumiere. "I'll get some now."

The door to the dining room creaked open and Mrs Potts entered accompanied by her five year old son, Chip, who was already dressed in his nightclothes.

"Adam, darling, can I talk to you?" she asked sweetly, sitting down in the chair next to him. She motioned for Chip to sit at her feet.

"No," Adam said curtly. "Go away."

"But Adam-"

"I'm eating," he said, swallowing a spoonful of soup.

"Please, Adam." Mrs Potts smiled at him. "I just want to talk to you. It won't take long." Adam rolled his eyes.

"Fine, but be quick," Adam sighed.

"Adam, I know that this time of year must be hard for you," she began. "I mean, it's been a year since your father left, and tomorrow is the anniversary of your mother's death. You have seemed a bit more morose than usual recently. Are you alright?"

Adam looked down at his soup in disgust as if it had suddenly begun to emit a foul odour.

"I'm not hungry anymore," he said, pushing his bowl away. He stood up and strode towards the door.

"Adam, wait!" Mrs Potts called, chasing after him. She grabbed onto his arm and looked him in the eye. "Please, Adam, listen to me," she pleaded.

"I told you not to mention my parents!" he screamed, pushing her away. "How could you be so stupid?"

"Don't talk to my Mama like that!" Chip piped up, running over to stand next to Mrs Potts.

Adam snorted and pushed the small boy to the ground. Chip began to cry and Mrs Potts hastened to comfort her son. Adam haughtily strode out of the room, down the hallway, and towards his bedchambers. As he was passing through the foyer, he heard a knock at the door. Adam stopped and stared at the enormous pair of wooden doors. He wasn't expecting any visitors. A thrilling possibility entered his mind. Perhaps his father had finally returned for him. Adam's heart leapt and he ran towards the doors, unable to contain his excitement. The prince pulled open the door and was disappointed to find a very old, decrepit, ugly old woman staring back at him instead of his tall, handsome father.

"What do you want?" Adam spat.

"Please let me stay here for the night," the old woman wheezed. "I am tired and in a great deal of pain. I need a place to rest my aching bones."

"Why should I?" asked Adam. "Get lost, you horrible old witch."

"I do not have much money," continued the old woman. She held out a blood red rose. "All I can offer you is this rose."

Adam wrinkled his nose. He couldn't stand the sight of roses. He could not help but think of his mother whenever he saw them. She had loved them. He despised her for driving his father off and refusing to let him play with Mrs Potts. She was spiteful and jealous and he hated being reminded of her.

A rose?" he snorted. "I've got plenty of roses. Awful, putrid things. Get out of my sight."

"I beg you to reconsider," said the old woman with a small toothless smile. "Please look past my appearance. True beauty is found within."

"Master, who are you talking to?" asked Cogsworth from the top of the stairs.

"No one," replied Adam, slamming the door in the old woman's face.

"Master, I thought you wanted bread." Lumiere walked into the foyer, carrying a plate of baguettes. "Why did you leave-"

Lumiere was interrupted by yet another knock at the door.

"Ugh. Not again," Adam groaned, pulling the door open. "Look, I told you to-"

The old woman was going. Instead, a tall, beautiful, elegant woman with long, flowing golden hair that fell down to her ankles stood before him.

"W-who are you?" asked Adam.

"You're the woman we met yesterday," said Cogsworth.

"That's right," Ariana smiled at him. She turned to Adam. "I'm an enchantress. I specialise in rewarding benevolence and kindness, and punishing arrogance, greed, and callousness. You're a very cruel boy, Prince Adam."

"Please forgive me," Adam begged, falling to his knees. "I-I didn't know that you were-"

"You are spoiled, selfish, and unkind," Ariana told him. "You have no love in your heart. I have no choice but to punish you."

A group of servants began to gather in the foyer to witness the spectacle that was currently unfolding. A terrified Chip hugged Mrs Potts' leg tightly.

"Please spare him, Madame," pleaded Lumiere. "He is just a child."

"I do not want to punish you," Ariana said. "You are just a child, but if I allow you to continue on as you are then there is no telling what kind of person you could grow up to be. I could never forgive myself if you grew up to be a murderous tyrant. Since you have no parents and your servants cannot discipline you, I have no choice but to take matters into my own hands."

Ariana waved her right hand and the room was filled with blinding green light. When the light cleared, the young prince was gone. In his place was a tall, hulking, hideous monster with horns, fangs, and claws. He was completely covered with thick brown fur. The servants had changed too, but not into monsters like their master. Instead, they had transformed into the various items of furniture, cutlery, and chinaware.

"This rose will bloom until your twenty-first birthday," said the enchantress. "If you can learn to love another, and earn their love in return by the time the last petal falls, then the spell will be broken. But if you fail to break the spell before that time then you will remain a Beast forever."

"Forever?" repeated the Beast.

"Yes," Ariana confirmed. She pulled a hand mirror out of her pocket and handed it to him. "Here, take this mirror as well. It will show you whatever you desire to see. That way you can keep in touch with the outside world without ever leaving your castle. I have to go now. Good luck!"

"Wait!" the Beast screamed. "Come back! Please forgive me!"

But it was too late. Ariana had disappeared into the night. The Beast was left alone with the servants. For a few moments there was only silence. The Beast stared into the darkness, as if he was waiting for the enchantress to return. After almost five minutes had passed, he slammed the door shut and stomped up to his bedchambers, carrying the mirror and the rose in one of his gigantic paws, leaving the servants alone.

"Chip, where are you?" called Mrs Potts.

"Right here, Mama!" piped up a small teacup sitting next to her.

"Oh, Chip. My poor little baby!" Mrs Potts tried to reach out to hug her son, but failed because, as a teapot, she no longer had arms. "It seems unfair to do something like this to an innocent child."

"It's unfair to do this to any of us," said Cogsworth who was now a clock. "We're not the ones who refused her."

"I suppose it is partly our fault he ended up this way," said Babette. She had been turned into an exact replica of the same feather duster she had used to clean so many windowsills.

"But little Chip didn't do anything," said Mrs Potts. "Why should he be punished along with the rest of us?"

"I pride myself on being a fiery lover, but this is just ridiculous," muttered Lumiere, inspecting the candles that had replaced his hands. "How am I supposed to cook and make love with these things? I'm going to set something on fire sooner or later."

"How do you think I feel?" asked Babette. "I have no arms or legs. I just have these feathers. At least you have limbs."

"This is not good. This is not good at all!" moaned Cogsworth, shaking Lumiere worriedly. "What are we going to do, Lumiere?"

"I guess we have to somehow make the master to fall in love," said Lumere, peering down at his base. "I must say, that enchantress did an excellent job. Look at how shiny I am. I can see my own reflection."

"The more the difficult task will be finding someone who could fall in love with him," muttered Babette.

"How are we going to get him to fall in love?" asked Cogsworth. "There's no one around for him to fall in love with! What are we supposed to do? Go out and kidnap a girl and force her to fall in love with him?"

"What about one of us?" suggested Babette. The room fell silent as the servants tried to imagine an eight foot tall monster romancing a fork.

"That would never work," said Cogsworth. "All the servant girls are too old for the master."

"I suppose we will have to wait for a girl to come to us," said Lumiere.

"How many girls are going to wander through the forest and end up on our doorstep?" asked Cogsworth incredulously. "Whose idea was it to build a castle in the middle of a forest anyway? And even if we did manage to procure a girl, how would we get her to stay? The master's appearance would be enough to drive anyone off."

"I think we should head off to bed," said Mrs Potts. "Maybe this whole thing will turn out to be some horrible dream. I don't think we'll be seeing the master again for quite a while."

* * *

Belle crept quietly down the stairs and surveyed the living room in search of her mother. She was nowhere to be found in. The door that led to the cellar was open a crack. She could hear her father grunting and muttering words she only heard when her parents thought she was asleep from inside. There was no sign of her mother in the kitchen either. Belle went back into the living room to inspect her shoes which were sitting near the fireplace. She was disappointed to find them both empty(Père Noël still hadn't come!), so she made her way up the stairs and into her parents' bedroom where she found her mother sleeping.

"Mama?" Belle whispered, gently poking Sofia in the shoulder. "Mama, are you awake?"

"Belle?" Sofia cracked an eye open. "You can't open your presents until tomorrow. I told you that before. Now be a good little girl and go back to bed or Père Noël won't bring you any treats."

"I had a bad dream, Mama," Belle whispered tearfully. "I don't want to sleep alone."

"Don't cry, treasure. You're a big girl now. Climb in and give me a cuddle," Sofia said gently. Belle clambered into the bed and snuggled up against her mother. "What was your dream about?" she asked, planting a comforting kiss on Belle's head.

"You were in it, Mama," Belle told her sleepily.

"Really? Was Papa in it too?"

"No. It was just you and me," Belle yawned. "I think I've had this dream before, actually. We were walking through a forest together and it starts to rain, so we run through the forest looking for shelter. Then we come across this big scary castle in the middle of the forest. We go in and we find this terrifying monster inside waiting for us. He starts coming towards us-"

"And he kills you?" Sofia cut her off, alarmed.

"No, he kills you, Mama."

"Oh."

"But you're not going to die, Mama. Right?" Belle asked, laying her head on her mother's chest. Sofia did not answer her. "Mama?"

"Hush, darling. You need to sleep," Sofia whispered, stroking Belle's hair soothingly. Belle closed her eyes and pressed her ear against Sofia's chest. The gentle beating of her mother's heart lulled her to sleep.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Maurice tiptoed into the room.

"Sofia, are you awake?" he whispered.

"Yes. Please be quiet," Sofia said just as Maurice hit his foot on the nightstand. "Belle is sleeping," she hissed as her husband cried out in pain.

"Sorry!" Maurice quickly lit a small candle and placed it on the nightstand. "Was she cold?" he asked as he pulled his nightclothes out of his dresser.

"She just had a bad dream," Sofia explained.

"She did? Poor little thing. Don't worry, little doe. Mama and Papa will keep those awful monsters away." Maurice climbed into bed, kissed his sleeping daughter on the forehead, and settled his head down on the pillow.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Sofia asked, frowning slightly.

Maurice sat up, alarmed. A look of realization came over his face. "Oh, of course. I'm sorry, dear," he said as he leaned over to give Sofia a big, long kiss on the lips.

"What were you working on?" she asked. "I thought you finished Belle's bookcase a few weeks ago."

"I did," replied Maurice. "It's all ready for her."

"So what were you working on? You're not usually up this late," observed Sofia.

"Oh, nothing."

"No, tell me!" Sofia pleaded. "Ooh, wait! Is it a present for me?"

"It might be," Maurice said, a smile spreading across his face.

"Ooh!" Sofia squealed. "What is it?"

"You'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out. If I tell you now then it won't be a surprise," Maurice told her.

"Fine, fine. I'll wait," Sofia conceded. She looked down at her sleeping daughter and smiled. "Has, uh, 'Père Noël' paid us a visit yet?"

"I think I saw him disappearing up the fireplace when I was passing through the living room," said Maurice with a sly smile.

Sofia carefully pushed her slumbering daughter off of her so that the she was lying between her and Maurice. The little girl stirred slightly and rolled onto her side. "Look at her. She is so beautiful," Sofia whispered, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Belle's ear.

"We named her well," agreed Maurice, smiling.

"How did we ever live without her?" said Sofia. "Though I must admit, I do often wonder what our lives would be like if our son had lived."

Maurice stared at her, surprised. Sofia rarely mentioned their son. Even after nine years the subject was still too painful for her to talk about

"It would have been nice for Belle to have a big brother to protect her and play with her," Sofia continued. "Then again, I don't think Belle would be quite as special to me if she had a sibling. I do wish we could give her a brother or sister, though."

"Maybe we will get lucky again," Maurice suggested, giving Sofia a comforting pat on the leg.

"You and I both know that is extremely unlikely to happen," Sofia sighed sadly. "It was a miracle we had Belle. Besides, we can't afford another child. We barely get by as it is. Poor Belle is so thin. She was such a plump little baby, remember? She looked like a chubby little doll with her lovely pink cheeks and pouty lips. I can still remember her toddling around the house and speaking in that adorable incoherent babble. Every day was a new adventure. Part of me wishes I could experience that all over again. On the other hand, I do not miss the constant crying and sleepless nights at all, and I do not have the energy to chase after a toddler anymore. I got exhausted just watching you and Belle play in the snow today."

"You're wearing yourself out, Sofia," Maurice told her. "You work so hard looking after Belle and running your dance classes. You should rest more. I have an idea. You cancel all your classes next week and I will look after Belle and do the cooking and cleaning for the whole week."

"Thank you, dolce. You're a sweetheart." Sofia leaned over and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. "We should probably go to sleep now. We've got a long day ahead of us. Good night."


	21. Puce

**Chapter Twenty-One**

_January 2nd__, 1751_

Sofia ignored the throbbing pain in her temple and focused her eyes on the nine year old girl dancing in front of her. The previous week, Sofia had assigned each of the girls in her ballet class the task of choreographing their own variation. She no longer had the energy to dance herself. She didn't have the energy to do much anymore.

The little girl finished her dance and curtseyed to Sofia and then to the rest of the children who were applauding wildly.

"Très bien, Danielle. Sit down with the others, dear," Sofia told her. "Next up, Belle."

Her eight year old daughter stood up and nervously took Danielle's place in the middle of the room. Sofia nodded to the violinist. The music started up and Belle began her dance. She blocked out everything else in the room, including the music, and focused only on the movements of her feet.

Ballet was not Belle's favourite past time, but she did enjoy it and wanted more than anything to make her mother proud. She practiced for two hours every day using the back of the settee in the living room as a barre. Her feet ached afterwards and she would have preferred to spend that time reading, but seeing her mother's proud face beaming at her when she danced was worth it.

Belle finished her dance with a perfect double pirouette and was met with a thunderous applause. She curtseyed to her classmates and looked to her mother for approval. Sofia was glowing with pride.

"Excellent, Belle!" Sofia touched her burning forehead and winced. "That's enough for today, girls. I'm not feeling well."

"Bye, Belle. Bye, Madame Desrosiers," each of the girls chirped as they filed out of the hall to meet their waiting mothers.

"Good bye, girls! Remember to practice your sissonnes!" Sofia called after them. She turned to her daughter who was changing back into her regular clothing. "You did very well today, Belle."

"Thank you, Mama." Belle beamed up at her mother proudly.

Sofia paid the violinist, helped Belle lace up her stays, and carefully placed Belle's ballet clothing into a small bag. She slung the bag over shoulder, took her daughter by the hand, and led her out of the community hall where she held her weekly ballet class.

"Are you alright, Mama?" asked Belle. "You look rather pale."

"I'm fine, angel," Sofia insisted.

"Mama, when are you going to teach me how to dance on my toes?" Belle asked. "You always look so pretty when you dance like that."

"You're a bit too young to dance en pointe, tesorina," Sofia told her.

"But you told me that I was the best dancer in the class," protested Belle.

"Your feet are still growing, Belle," replied Sofia. "I didn't start learning pointework until I was twelve."

"I can do it, Mama. Watch this!" Belle kicked off her shoes and elevated herself onto the very tips of her toes. She managed to stand in this position for five seconds before she fell face first into the dirt.

"Belle!" Sofia cried, rushing over to help her daughter up. "Are you alright, darling?"

"I think you're right, Mama," Belle grumbled, brushing the dust off her dress.

Sofia giggled. "Come on, Belle. We have to buy a cake for Papa's birthday. He should be coming home today. Then we can stop by the library and get an English book for our lesson today."

"The library?" Belle repeated excitedly. She pushed her feet back into her shoes and took off down the street like a lightning bolt.

"Hang on, Belle. Wait for me!" Sofia called after her.

After perusing the library's modest collection of English language books for a full fifteen minutes, she finally chose _Astrophel and Stella_. Belle couldn't wait to read it. She opened up the book immediately and started to devour its contents as she walked, and promptly walked into a brick wall.

"See, Belle, this is why I tell you not to read and walk at the same time," Sofia admonished.

Sofia bought a cake from the bakery across the street from the library, and she and Belle set off for home to begin their lessons. Maurice and Sofia wanted their daughter to get a proper education, but they didn't have enough money to send her away to school. Hiring a tutor was also out of the question for that same reason, so Sofia had decided to teach Belle herself. Belle adored her lessons. She especially loved geography. She would pour over books about countries that she dreamed of going to. She had even marked off all the places she would go to someday on a map and had hung it on her bedroom wall. History was another favourite. The tales of war in her history books were just as exciting as the ones in her storybooks, except they were better because they actually happened. However, she loved her language lessons the most out of all of them.

Sofia had started speaking Italian to her daughter when she was a baby. By age six, Belle was already fluent in her mother's native language and, due to the vast amount of books she read, had the French vocabulary of a child twice her age, so Sofia had decided to start teaching her English, which she had also studied as a child. Belle had read rough translations of a few Ancient Roman poems in a book she had borrowed from the library and had become fascinated by Roman poetry and mythology so Sofia had arranged to have Belle take weekly lessons in Latin from an old scholar who lived two blocks away from them. In exchange, Sofia taught his granddaughters ballet free of charge. Belle loved learning new languages. Each new language was like a key that unlocked a whole world of books that she could read. She loved learning the quirks and oddities of the languages that she studied. She particularly enjoyed reading about the etymologies and multiple meanings of each word and phrase that she learned. Belle had already made a long list of languages that she wanted to learn after she had mastered English and Latin.

When they finally arrived home, Belle immediately bounded into the house, sat down at the desk in the living room, and opened her book as Sofia put the cake in the kitchen.

"Come on, Mama," she yelled excitedly. "Come on, I want to start now!"

"Not yet, Belle," said Sofia, sitting down next to her daughter. "First we have to work on your mathematical skills."

"But, Mama!" Belle whined.

Mathematics was not Belle's forte. In fact, she was downright awful at it. Her lessons had reduced her to tears more than a few times. Sofia tried the best she could to explain each mathematical concept and formula to her daughter, but it was no use. Everything flew over Belle's head and it bothered her more than she let on. She excelled in every other subject she studied. She could effortlessly learn any language she wanted. She could read an entire three hundred page book that had been written for adults much older than her in one afternoon. So why was mathematics so hard for her?

"No buts, Belle," Sofia told her sternly. "Let's start with a little quiz. What's twelve times nine? And no using your fingers. Put your hands behind your back so you can't look at them," she ordered.

Belle reluctantly complied. She furrowed her brow and thought very hard.

"Ninety-seven?" she guessed hopefully.

"No, Belle," sighed Sofia. "Twelve times nine is one-hundred-and-eight, not ninety-seven. I'll try something easier. What's thirty-six minus sevente-"

A knock at the door interrupted Sofia mid-sentence. Belle sighed in relief as her mother got up to answer it. Sofia opened the door to find her cousin, Celine, standing on her doorstep holding a canvas in her right hand.

"Good afternoon, Sofia!" she greeted enthusiastically.

"Bonjour, Aunty Celine," said Belle, skipping up behind Sofia.

"Good afternoon, Belle," said Celine. "You're looking more like your mother every day."

"Thank you, Aunty Celine," Belle chirped happily as an enormous smile spread over the girl's face.

"I came over to give you this. It's for Maurice's birthday," Celine explained, handing Sofia the canvas.

Sofia laid the painting against the wall and stood back to inspect it. It was a beautiful portrait of Belle and Sofia wearing their best dresses and sitting in the garden area of their favourite park, surrounded by roses and lilies.

"Oh, thank you. It's beautiful," gasped Sofia. "Belle looks so pretty. He'll love it! He's not home yet, but I'll give it to him. I would invite you to stay for tea, but Belle and I are in the middle of a mathematics lesson."

"Ugh, mathematics?" Celine wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Good luck, Belle. Bye, Sofia!"

Belle sat back down at the desk as Sofia escorted Celine to the door.

"Now, where were we?" asked Sofia as she re-joined her daughter.

"We were about to start reading _Astrophel and Stella_," said Belle hopefully.

"Nice try, Belle." Sofia smirked. "Let's start again. If there are thirty-two books in the library and you borrow a quarter of them, how many books are left?"

Belle stared up at her mother blankly.

"First you have to divide thirty-two," Sofia hinted.

"By what?"

"Well, what's a quarter?"

"It's a fourth of something." Then it hit her. "Oh! I get it now. I just need to divide thirty-two by four."

"And?"

"And then I need to multiply it by three." Belle closed her eyes and spent the next two minutes silently working out the answer. "Twenty-four, Mama! Twenty-four books are left!" she declared proudly.

"Good job, Belle." Sofia beamed. "I knew you could do it if you put your mind to it."

The two of them heard the front door creaked open and looked around to see Maurice entering the house carrying a large leather bag.

"Papa!" Belle cried happily. She leapt from her seat and ran to give her father an enormous hug. "Happy Birthday, Papa!"

"Have you been a good girl, Belle?" Maurice asked, smiling.

"Uh-huh!"

"She's been a little angel," said Sofia, giving Maurice a quick peck on the cheek.

"Then I guess I can give you this."

Maurice reached into the bag and pulled out a wooden doll. He handed it to Belle, who inspected it curiously. The doll had snow white skin, pink cheeks, and curly golden blonde hair sticking out from underneath a red bonnet that matched her elegant red dress. Belle was delighted. She had always wanted to have a doll, but her parents had never been able to afford to buy her one.

"I won it in one of those fair games," Maurice explained. "You know the one where you throw the rings over the bottles? It took me eight tries, though. What do you think?"

"I love it, Papa! Thank you so much!" Belle gushed. "She kind of looks like Mama, don't you think?"

"She does a bit," agreed Maurice with a chuckle.

"Really?" asked Sofia, bending down to take a closer look at the doll. "I don't see it myself."

"I'm going to go play with her now!" declared Belle. She hugged the doll to her chest and bounded up the stairs.

"Wait, Belle, we still haven't finished our mathematics lesson!" Sofia called after her. She winced as a she felt another pain in her temple.

"What's wrong?" asked Maurice, alarmed.

"It's nothing, just a headache," insisted Sofia, sitting down on the settee. "How did you go at the fair?"

"Same old story," Maurice shrugged, sitting down next to her. "Now, how have you been feeling?"

"Not well," admitted Sofia, sighing. "I'm worse than ever now."

"You need to rest more, Sofia. I keep telling you that," Maurice told her.

"I rest all the time, Maurice. It doesn't do any good. I just keep getting sicker and sicker. You know, it started just after we found out we were going to have Belle. At first I blamed the paralysing headaches, nausea, and night sweats on the pregnancy, but they continued even after she was born. These days, my headaches can get so bad that my vision cuts out. I wake up drenched with sweat every night. I don't know what's wrong with me, dolce."

"Do you think we should get a doctor?" suggested Maurice.

"You know we can't afford one," sighed Sofia. "Besides, I don't think it would be any use. When my mother was sick, she had the best doctors in all of Florence, yet she still died. The same thing happened to her, you know. She started feeling sick just before I was born. At first, she just had a mild headache every now and then, but as the years went by it got much worse. By the end she couldn't even get out of bed. To tell you the truth, I always got the feeling my father blamed me for her death."

"That doesn't mean that you're going to go the same way your mother did," said Maurice, putting an arm around his wife. "Everything will be alright."

"No, it won't," murmured Sofia. Tears began to well up in her eyes. "I am just going to have to accept it. I am going to die. There isn't anything I can do to stop it. I'm so scared, Maurice." She quickly blinked the tears away. "I can't cry. I have to be strong for Belle's sake."

"It's natural to cry a little," said Maurice.

"No, no, it's probably best I don't think about it," insisted Sofia, nestling her head on her husband's shoulder.

"If you're sure," said Maurice. A sudden wave of realisation came over him. "Oh, no!"

"What's wrong?" asked Sofia, lifting her head.

"I haven't unhitched Harriette yet," explained Maurice, leaping from the settee. "She's still out there. I'll be back before you know it, I promise!"

"I'll help you," insisted Sofia.

"No, you just stay there and rest," Maurice ordered.

"It's your birthday, Maurice. I want to help you. Now, come on."

Sofia strode out the day, with Maurice following close behind. A few moments later, Belle came skipping down the stairs.

"Mama?" she called. "Papa? Where are you?"

Her stomach growled. She was getting very hungry. She hadn't eaten since lunchtime. She checked the kitchen. She couldn't find her parents in there either. She decided to try the cellar.

"Papa, are you in there?" she called, knocking on the door. "Papa?"

She gently pushed the door open and crept into the room. She had never been in the cellar before. Her parents had strictly forbidden her from ever going in there. It was full of her father's old inventions, some of which she recognised. She contemplated staying in there for a few more moments to explore, but decided that it was best get out before her mother and father found her. She turned to leave, but her foot collided with the leg of a table that was holding up one of her father's devices. Both the table and the device came crashing to the floor. The invention broke into hundreds of tiny pieces.

"Belle!"

Belle jumped and spun around to see Sofia standing in the doorway, her face red with anger.

"Mama!"

"What did you do?" Sofia screamed.

Belle took a step back. She had never seen her mother so angry.

"I'm sorry, Papa!" Belle cried, turning to Maurice, who had followed Sofia in. "I didn't mean to break it, I swear."

"I told you not to come in here, Belle!" Sofia screeched.

"I-I'm so sorry, Mama. I was looking for you and Papa and-"

"You aren't allowed in here for a reason, Belle. Now look at what you've done. Papa probably spent months on that."

"Actually, it only took about two days if I remember correctly," said Maurice meekly.

"Go to bed, Belle!" Sofia demanded.

"But it's only five o'clock, Mama," Belle protested.

"Now!"

"I'm hungry!" Belle said, clutching her growling stomach.

Sofia grabbed her daughter by the wrist and pulled her up the stairs and into the kitchen. She retrieved a small baguette out of cupboard and pushed it into Belle's hands.

"Go! Now!" Sofia ordered, pointing towards the stairs.

Belle ran up the stairs and into her bedroom. She slammed the door shut and sat on her bed. She wiped the tears from her eyes and took a bite out of the baguette. Mama and Papa probably hated her now, she thought to herself. She didn't blame them. She had purposefully defied their orders and had ended up breaking one of her father's inventions. She had never seen her mother so angry before. How would she ever get them to forgive her? How could she ever get them to love her again?

She vaguely recalled reading a line that suggested that love blossomed when two persons were apart in an old Latin poem. Perhaps if she left for a few weeks they would learn to love her once again and they could forget this whole thing ever happened. She could go on an adventure, just like she had always dreamed. She could explore all of the wonderful, exciting places she had read about in her books. She could get to know colourful new people and get to have all sorts of adventures with them. Best of all, she wouldn't have to do any mathematics.

Belle stuffed the remainder of the baguette into her mouth and swallowed. She quickly dug her winter coat out of her wardrobe and pulled it over her dress. She chose three of her books from her bookshelf and stuffed them into a small bag, along with the map on her wall. She retrieved the quarter écu she had gotten for her birthday from under her pillow and placed it in the pocket of her coat. She slung the bag over her shoulder and pushed the window open. She climbed out and jumped onto the roof of Harriette's stable, landing perfectly on her feet. She carefully climbed down onto the ground and set off for what she was sure to be a grand adventure.

* * *

Maurice poked his cake with his spoon and frowned. Sofia, who was still tired from her screaming fit earlier that evening, looked over the table at him, concerned.

"What's wrong, dear?"

"Belle's probably hungry," Maurice said. "That bread can't have been too filling. Perhaps we could give her a tiny slice of cake? We won't be able to eat all this on our own."

"She broke your invention," said Sofia curtly. "She has to be punished."

"I don't care about that," insisted Maurice. "I was going to dismantle that old thing anyway."

"That's not the point, Maurice. She disobeyed us. We forbade her from going in there for her own safety."

Maurice stayed quiet. He didn't want to argue with her when she was in this condition. He swallowed a spoonful of cake.

"This cake is a little dry. Do we have any cream?" he asked.

"I don't think so," said Sofia. She put her fork down and stood up. "Madame Bisette usually has extra cream, though. I'll ask her if we can borrow some."

"You don't have to do that," said Maurice quickly. "I can get it."

"No, Maurice, it's your birthday. Let me do it," insisted Sofia as she strode out of the house.

Maurice quickly jumped from his seat and grabbed a plate out of the cupboard. He cut another slice of cake and placed it on the plate. He carried the plate upstairs and knocked on his daughter's bedroom door.

"Belle, I brought you some cake," he called. "Just don't tell your mother. Belle?"

He opened the door and stepped inside the room. Belle was nowhere to be found. He ran back down the stairs and into the kitchen where he found Sofia holding a full jug of cream.

"Belle's gone!" he spluttered.

"What?"

"She's not in her room."

"Are you sure?" asked Sofia. "She could just be hiding." She stomped up to Belle's room and flung open the door. "Belle!" she called. "Belle, Come out now or I'm taking away all your books." She waited for a few moments. She turned to Maurice who had followed her in. "You're right. She is gone."

"Look, the window's open," said Maurice.

"She must have run away because I yelled at her," said Sofia, grabbing Maurice's hand and leading him back down the stairs. "Come on, we have to find her."

"I used to run away from home all the time when I was her age. She'll come back when she gets hungry or tired," said Maurice.

"Maurice, you grew up in a harmless little hick village. We live in one of the biggest and most dangerous cities in Europe," said Sofia. "There are probably hundreds of murderers and kidnappers roaming the streets right now. There's no telling what could happen if one of them got their hands on a girl like her."

"Hick?" repeated Maurice, slightly offended.

"Sorry, dear, it just slipped out. I'm feeling a little tense right now. Come on, we have to go."

* * *

Belle was in a part of the city that she had never been to before. She had been walking for hours. Her feet hurt more with every step that she took. Her stomach growled with hunger. She fished the quarter écu out of her pocket and looked around for a place she could buy food from. In the distance, she saw a shop that still had its windows lit. As Belle approached it, the smell of baking bread hit her nostrils. A sign in the window of the bakery advertised a whole baguette for only three sols. She was about to enter the bakery when something caught her eye.

Next door to the bakery was a tavern. Sitting by the door of the tavern was a shivering young girl who looked to be a year or two younger than Belle was. She was painfully thin, even thinner than herself, and dressed entirely in rags.

Seeing that girl put it all in perspective for Belle. She didn't care about adventures anymore. She just wanted to go home. She wanted to see her parents. At that moment, Belle would have given anything to be cuddling up to her father by the warm fire or falling asleep to the sound of her mother's heartbeat. Now that she had time to think about it, she decided that running away had been a bad idea. How could she have thought her parents hated her? How could she have been so stupid? She had broken the rules and they had gotten angry at her. Everyone got angry once in a while. That didn't mean that they hated her. She had been so overcome with emotion and shame that she hadn't been able to think logically.

She looked down at the coin. The girl needed it more than she did. Belle had a home and parents to go to. This poor girl didn't have anything. She approached the girl and held out the coin to her. The girl looked at it hesitantly.

"Take it, come on," Belle insisted.

"Th-thank you," the girl stammered gratefully, taking the coin and burying it under her rags. Belle turned around and was about to begin her long journey home when she heard the door of the tavern open. A tall, fierce-looking, intoxicated man stumbled out into the street.

"Come, Lilianne!" he ordered, grabbing a hold of the young girl's arm and pulling her upright. The coin fell out of her rags and onto the ground. The man picked it up and inspected it. "Where did you get this?" he demanded. "Did you steal it?"

"A girl gave it to me, Papa," said Lilianne.

"Don't lie to me," screamed the man. "Where did you get it?"

"I'm telling you the truth, Papa!" cried the girl.

"Excuse me, sir," said Belle meekly. The man turned around and glared at her.

"What?" he spat.

"She is telling the truth," Belle told him. "I gave her the coin."

"We don't need your charity!" he roared, throwing the coin back at her. He grabbed his daughter by the arm and pulled her away violently. Lilianne looked back at Belle sadly.

* * *

"You're looking a little pale. Maybe we should go back?" suggested Maurice. He didn't like Sofia being out in the cold for too long.

"No, we have to find Belle."

"We've been looking for her for over two hours," said Maurice. "What if Belle comes home, finds us missing, and decides to leave again? I have an idea. What if you go home and wait for her, and I'll stay out and look for her. How about that, Sofia?"

"You can go home, Maurice. My Belle needs me," she murmured weakly.

"You don't sound too good either," said Maurice. "That's it. I'm taking you home."

Maurice turned around to take Sofia's hand, but instead found her lying face down on the ground. A kind-hearted passer-by helped Maurice carry her home. Maurice changed her out of her heavy day-clothing and into her nightgown and laid her in bed. She regained consciousness a half-hour later.

"What happened, Maurice?" she whispered. "Where's Belle?"

"You collapsed," Maurice told her. "You need to rest."

"No, I need to find Belle," Sofia insisted.

"Mama?"

The two of them looked up to see their daughter standing in the doorway of their bedroom.

"Belle!" cried Sofia happily, before her face turned stern. "Where have you been?"

"We went looking for you, but your mother collapsed and we had to come back," explained Maurice.

"Mama collapsed?" gasped Belle, tears welling up in her eyes. She pushed passed Maurice and rushed to her mother's side. "I'm so sorry, Mama," she sobbed, burying her face into her mother's stomach. "I promise I'll never run away ever again!"

"Why did you run away, Belle?" asked Sofia.

"I thought you and Papa didn't love me anymore because I broke his invention," Belle explained, wiping away her tears.

"What?" Sofia was mortified. "How could you think something like that?"

"You yelled at me. You've never done that before," said Belle sheepishly.

"Oh, Belle," said Sofia with a small sigh. "You're an intelligent little girl, but that was a very silly thing for you to assume. You're eight years old now. You should know better than to think something like that. I could never stop loving you. I love you more than anything in the world. I know that it must have been a shock for you to see me so angry. You've always been a well-behaved girl, so I've never had any reason to scream at you before."

"I guess I'm not as smart as thought I was," admitted Belle, feeling extremely foolish. "Please forgive me, Mama." She turned to Maurice. "Papa, I'm so sorry I broke your invention. I didn't mean to do it."

"It's okay, little doe," Maurice assured her, enveloping his daughter into a tight hug. "Just try to be more careful next time."

"I shouldn't have screamed at you, Belle," said Sofia. "I reacted too strongly. I'm so sorry. I'm just stressed because I-" She stopped herself. Now was not the right time to tell Belle that she was dying. "Well, never mind that, it's time you got to bed."

"Can I sleep in here tonight," Belle asked hopefully.

"Of course you can, darling," said Sofia.

Belle ran out of the room and returned two minutes later wearing her nightgown. She climbed into bed with Sofia and laid her head on her mother's chest. Her mother was extremely slender and dainty, but, to Belle, she was softer and more comfortable than any pillow she had ever laid her head on. A sudden loud, thundering rumble filled the room.

"What was that?" asked Sofia, alarmed.

"My tummy," said Belle, sitting up and touching her stomach. "I'm hungry."

"Poor thing," said Sofia, lovingly tucking a curl of chocolate brown hair behind her daughter's ear. "You probably haven't eaten since I gave you that bread a few hours ago."

"I'll get her some cake," said Maurice, who had been changing into his nightclothes. He left the room and Sofia pulled Belle closer to her.

"You know, Belle, I do have to punish you for running off like that," Sofia told her.

"I know," Belle admitted.

"But I don't want to strike you or deny you food. That would be cruel." She stopped and thought for a few moments. "I've got it! No storybooks for a week."

"But, Mama!" Belle protested.

"And three hours of mathematics a day for the next fortnight," Sofia added.

"You said you weren't going to be cruel," Belle muttered.

"It's for your own good, Belle," Sofia told her.

Belle harrumphed and laid her head back down on her mother's chest.

"I love you, Mama," she whispered.

"I love you too, Belle."


	22. Rosewood

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

_March 3rd, 1751_

Sofia's illness quickly worsened in the weeks following her collapse. She spent the majority of her time in bed as she no longer had enough energy to walk around for significant periods of time. Maurice and Belle never left her side for more than a few moments. Belle's lessons did not cease, however. Every evening, Sofia would lie in bed listening to Belle read books and recite the multiplication tables while Maurice made dinner for them.

On this particular morning, Sofia, who had grown concerned about the amount of time that her daughter had been spending indoors lately, had sent Belle outside to play. Maurice sat in a chair next to her bedside, holding his wife's hand as she ran her fingers through his hair.

"You're going grey, dolce," Sofia commented absent-mindedly.

"I am?" asked Maurice. He touched the top of his head worriedly.

"I think it looks rather distinguished actually. You should grow a moustache as well," said Sofia, brushing her hand against his lips. "You'd look cute with one."

"Perhaps I will," said Maurice, touching his face thoughtfully.

"Maurice, promise me you'll look after Belle. Promise me you'll make sure she marries a good man. I don't want her to be alone, and I definitely do not want her to be trapped in a loveless marriage with a man who treats her like a slave."

"I promise," he whispered. "I promise I will find her a good husband."

"You won't have to do much looking," said Sofia. "Belle will no trouble attracting men, believe me. Unfortunately there will be a lot of bad eggs in that lot. I want you to make sure that the man she eventually does marry is good, honourable, and loves her for more than just her looks."

"I'll do it," Maurice promised, giving his wife a comforting kiss on the cheek.

"This is the end, Maurice," said Sofia solemnly.

"I know," Maurice admitted tearfully as he pressed his face into Sofia's stomach.

"Please don't cry, dolce" whispered Sofia. "I don't like seeing you upset. I am not afraid of death any more. I have grown to accept my fate. We all have to go sometime. There are just so many things that I know I am never going to get to experience. You and I are never going to grow old together, I'm never going to cry at Belle's wedding, and I'm never going to hold my grandchildren in my arms."

"I'll give them an extra hug every time I see them, and I will tell them it's from their grandmama," promised Maurice.

"I love you so much, Maurice," said Sofia. "I am so happy I married you instead of that awful Aristide. I'm lucky I got out of that relationship while I still could. I made some terrible decisions in my youth. That's why I'm so worried about Belle. I won't be around to give her relationship advice in a few years. She could end up making an awful mistake. I made some awful decisions when I was younger. Marrying you, however, is one decision that I do not regret."

"But you had to give up your career," said Maurice. "I still feel bad about that. You could have been a world famous ballet dancer if it weren't for me."

"Trust me, Maurice, I'm much happier as a simple wife and mother than I ever was as a dancer," Sofia assured him. "I mean, I had to practice nine hours a day, I had to maintain a very meagre diet, and I got a new injury every week. My feet are still horribly disfigured."

"I think your feet are beautiful," said Maurice, squeezing his wife's hand.

"That's why I love you, Maurice," said Sofia. "You always know how to make me feel special."

"You could have had any man you wanted, and yet, you chose me," said Maurice. "I still can't believe it."

"But I didn't want any other man, Maurice," said Sofia, smiling. "I just wanted you. There isn't a single part of our marriage that I regret. I just wish we had more time together. Fifteen years wasn't nearly enough. And I wish we could have had Belle sooner. I hope our daughter can have a love like ours someday. I haven't told anyone this before, but when Belle was first born, I had this really strange feeling about her."

"What do you mean?" asked Maurice, his heart pounding.

"There was just something not quite right about her," said Sofia. "She didn't feel like my daughter. Thankfully, that feeling didn't last all that long. I love her more than anything else in the world now."

Maurice pursed his lips. He had never told Sofia about the night he had met the enchantress and the true story behind Belle's conception. He had always felt uncomfortable about this. Sofia had a right to know, but he had never been able to tell her. He was afraid that the news would break her heart. Perhaps she would be even be angry that it had taken him so long to tell her. Would she even believe him? But he had to do it, and if he didn't tell her now, she would probably never know.

"Sofia," he began, after taking a deep, hesitant breath. "There's something I need to tell you about-"

"Mama!"

Belle bounded into the room carrying a big bouquet of daisies in her hands.

"I picked these for you, Mama," she declared, proudly showing the flowers to her mother.

"Did you steal these out of the Legrands' garden again?" asked Sofia, raising an eyebrow.

"Madame Legrand told me I could pick them! I asked her," Belle explained. "Do you like them?"

"They're beautiful, darling," said Sofia. "Tell Madame Legrand that I said thank you, okay?"

"I'll put them in some water," said Maurice. He took the flowers from his daughter and shuffled out of the room. Belle took her father's place in the chair next to Sofia's bedside.

"Belle, come here," ordered Sofia softly. "I want to hold my little girl in my arms."

Belle climbed into bed with her mother and rested her head on her shoulder. Sofia put her arm around Belle and lovingly stroked her daughter's hair.

"Promise me you'll be a good girl for Papa when I'm gone, Belle."

"I wish you wouldn't say things like that, Mama. You're going to get better. I know you will."

"Belle, we've talked about this," sighed Sofia.

"We shouldn't give up hope, Mama," said Belle.

"Oh, Belle. I love your optimism, darling, but I want you to think realistically," said Sofia, cupping her daughter's face with her palm. "Life isn't a storybook, you know."

"I know that, Mama," Belle admitted. "But that doesn't mean I can't dream."

"You know, Belle, you were born in this room."

"I was?"

"Uh-huh. On this very bed, in fact. I went through so much pain and heartbreak before I had you, tesorina, but you were worth every second of it," Sofia told her. "I just wish you had been born sooner. It breaks my heart to know that I am not going to be there to guide you on your journey into womanhood, but at least I got to spend eight and a half wonderful years with you."

"Don't talk like that, Mama," said Belle softly. "Think positively."

Sofia smiled weakly at Belle and brushed a stray piece of hair away from her daughter's face. She closed her eyes and nestled her head against her pillow. She had a contented smile spread over her face. Belle settled her own head on Sofia's chest. It took a few moments for her to realise that something was not quite right. Her mother's familiar heartbeat was gone. Belle sat back up immediately.

"Mama?" she whispered, gently patting Sofia's face. "Wake up, Mama."

It was no use. Her mother was gone. Belle sat on the bed staring down at Sofia's unresponsive body for a few more moments before the situation finally sunk in.

"Mama, no!" Belle screamed as she felt warm tears slide down her cheeks. She pressed her face against her mother's bosom. "Please don't leave me! I need you, Mama."

Maurice raced into the room, tore Belle off Sofia's body, and hugged his sobbing daughter to his chest as tears began to roll down his own cheeks.

* * *

Belle wrapped her arms around Maurice's stomach and rested her head on his shoulder as they watched six pallbearers carry the coffin containing Sofia's body to her final resting place. After the funeral service, Maurice had asked to have ten minutes alone with the body. He spent the next two and a half hours silently stroking Sofia's cheek as Belle watched him awkwardly. By the time he was finally ready to say good bye to her, the rest of the mourners had already left. The only people around were the pallbearers.

"Wait!" Maurice called. "Let me take one last look at her."

The pallbearers carefully placed the coffin on the ground and stepped away from it. Maurice took Belle's hand and led her slowly towards the coffin. After a few brief moments of hesitation, Maurice relinquished the grip he had on Belle's hand, knelt down, and slid the lid of the coffin open. A peaceful, happy smile was spread over Sofia's face. She held a bouquet of red roses, pink azaleas, and white daisies in her hands. Her long, blonde hair was tucked under a bright red bonnet that matched her dress. She had worn the dress at her wedding to Maurice, and had always claimed that it was her favourite item of clothing. Belle reached down and quickly touched her mother's ice cold hand. Maurice leaned into the coffin and planted a soft kiss on Sofia's lips. He stared at the body, as if he expected her to come back to life and ride off into the sunset with him.

"She looks so peaceful," he whispered. "I can't believe that she's really-"

Maurice stopped. He couldn't even bear to finish that sentence. His entire body started to shake. He burst into a loud wail and pressed his face against Sofia's chest.

"Come on, Papa," whispered Belle. She took her father's hand and slowly led him away from the coffin.

The pallbearers lowered the coffin into the ground and a graveyard worker began to fill in the grave. Belle hugged her father tightly and fixed her eyes on her mother's tombstone.

_SOFIA VALENTI DESROSIERS_

_BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER_

_BORN: MAY 26 1712_

_DIED: MARCH 3 1751_

That was it. Her mother's life summed up in fifteen words. It all seemed wrong to Belle. She was more than just a wife and mother who died young, yet that was how people were going to remember her for the rest of eternity. The graveyard worker patted down the newly filled in grave and made his way back into the church along with the pallbearers. Maurice and Belle continued to stare at the tombstone.

"It's getting dark, Papa," said Belle softly. "We should go home ourselves."

Maurice allowed Belle to take his hand and lead him out of the graveyard. They walked home together in silence. As soon as they stepped through the front door of their house, Belle broke down in tears.

"Don't cry, Belle," Maurice whispered gently as he enveloped Belle into a soothing hug. "Everything is going to be alright. We are going to get through this together."

"No, we aren't," sobbed Belle. "You're going to get married again and your new wife is going to hate me, and she's going to send me off to live in an orphanage. That's what always happens."

"Belle, you read too many storybooks," sighed Maurice.

"It's not just books, Papa," said Belle. "Monique, one of the girls I play with sometimes, lives in the orphanage a few blocks away. She's actually from Strasbourg. She was the only child of a milliner and his first wife. Her mother died when she was five, and her father got married to another woman. The milliner's new wife couldn't stand the sight of Monique because she looked exactly like her mother and her father spoiled her. The new wife eventually gave birth to twin boys, but they didn't have enough money to look after all three children, so she managed to convince the milliner to send his daughter to live with her grandmother here in Paris. The grandmother died a few months later. Monique didn't have any other relatives in Paris, and she didn't enough money to travel back to Strasbourg, so she had to go live in the orphanage."

"That is not going to happen, Belle," Maurice assured her. "I am not going to get married again. I could never love anyone as much as I loved your mother, and even if I did find someone I wanted to marry, she would have to love you just as much as I do. There isn't a single human being alive who could tear us apart. You're not going to end up in an orphanage."

"Promise?"

"I promise," said Maurice, squeezing his daughter's hand. "There are so many things I regret now, Belle. I wish I had told her I loved her more, and I wish we had moved out of the city like she wanted to. We probably would have been a lot happier there."

"Papa, it's my fault Mama died, isn't it?" asked Belle. That was the other thing that had been plaguing her mind over the last couple of days.

"What do you mean?" asked Maurice, confused.

"If I hadn't run away, Mama wouldn't have gone out looking for me, and then she wouldn't have collapsed," Belle explained.

"No, Belle, it's not your fault," Maurice sighed. "Please don't blame yourself, little doe."

"It is my fault, Papa, admit it!" Belle yelled. "If it weren't for me, Mama would still be here with us."

"For the last time, Belle, no! No good will come from you blaming yourself," said Maurice exasperatedly.

"It is my fault!" Belle screamed again. "It's all my fault!"

Maurice tried to pull his daughter into a comforting hug, but she resisted and pushed him away from her. She wiped her tear-stricken face on the skirt of her dress, ran up the stairs, and slammed the door of her room. Maurice sunk into the settee and buried his face in his hands.

* * *

Belle threw herself headfirst into her books after Sofia's funeral. They were the only things that helped her ease the pain. Every morning she would gallop down to the library and return home with an enormous bag of books slung over her shoulder. She would devour each one as if it were a delicious slice of cake. The books never lasted long, either. She would always run out of stories to read just before dinner time. That was when she had to start dealing with her own problems, rather than the problems of Hamlet and Don Quixote. Every night, she would lie awake in bed clutching her toy bunny as she worried about her and her father's mortality.

Maurice, however, was dealing with his grief in an entirely different way. He had seemed to age ten years overnight, and his hair had turned completely white within weeks. He couldn't muster up enough enthusiasm to work on any of his inventions. He hadn't even gone down into the cellar since Sofia's death. All day long he would sit on the settee and stare at the painting of Sofia and Belle that Celine had given him for his birthday. Every morning he would give Belle some money and send her down the street to buy pastries for breakfast. He never had enough energy to cook, so he and Belle survived mostly on generous donations of food from kindhearted friends and pain was so unbearable that, truth be told, if it hadn't been for Belle, he would have chosen to join Sofia a few weeks after her death.

One early June afternoon, as Belle was studying and Maurice was moping on the settee, they heard a knock at the door.

"Do you want me to get that, Papa?"

Maurice grunted. Belle closed her book, stood up, and strode to the door where she found her Celine and an enormous pot waiting for her.

"Oh, good afternoon, Aunty Celine."

"Good afternoon, Belle," greeted Celine. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"No, it's okay. I was just studying," Belle assured her. "Come in."

"Good afternoon, Maurice," called Celine as she stepped into the living room. Maurice grunted again.

"Papa hasn't said anything all day," said Belle quietly.

"What were you studying?" asked Celine.

"English," answered Belle. "I have to teach myself now that Mama's gone."

"My husband is from England, you know. You could come over and talk to him sometime," suggested Celine.

"Thank you, Aunty Celine," said Belle gratefully. "You are very kind."

"I brought you some soup," said Celine, holding up the pot.

"Thank you. Come with me," Belle said as she her into the kitchen. She opened up a large metal box, took the pot from Celine, and place it inside.

"What's this?" asked Celine, gesturing to the box.

"Oh. It's something my father made," explained Belle. "It keeps food fresh for long periods of time."

"That's ingenious," gasped Celine. "I can't believe he always loses those competitions he enters."

"I know, I know. I hope the world will recognise him as a genius someday," said Belle.

"'Do you visit her often, Belle?" asked Celine.

"Papa and I bring fresh flowers to Mama's grave every Friday morning."

"Your poor father hasn't been coping well, has he?" observed Celine as she peered out into the living room. "Poor Maurice. He loved your mother so much. How have you been, Belle? I feel for you, you poor little thing. My mother died when I was seventeen. It's not the same, but I know what it's like to lose a mother. I can't even begin to imagine how awful it must be to lose a parent at your tender age, though."

"I try not think about Mama," answered Belle solemnly. "It's too painful for me."

"Oh no, Belle! You mustn't hide from your feelings like that!" gasped Celine. "Sooner or later you are going to have to deal with them. Ooh! I have to go home and get dinner started. I should be going now. Sorry, Belle."

Belle walked Celine to the front door and opened it for her.

"Ooh! Just a minute, I want to talk to your father," said Celine just after she had stepped outside. Belle stepped aside to let her back into the house. A whole flood of painful memories flooded over her as her eyes fell on a mother playing with her young daughter across the street. Belle closed her eyes and pushed the memories to the back of her mind. Suddenly, she felt a hand tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. Her mother used to do that. Belle's heart stopped. She opened her eyes and spun around to see Celine staring at her with concern.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?"

"I'm fine," answered Belle quickly. "My mother used to tuck my hair behind my ear, and I thought for a moment... Never mind. I thought you were going to talk to Papa?"

"He doesn't appear to be in a very responsive mood at the moment," said Celine worriedly. "Well, I have to go now. Take care, Belle."

* * *

Maurice opened his eyes and looked around blearily. It was still too dark to see anything. His stomach rumbled. He leaned over to his nightstand and lit a candle. He pulled the blankets back and lowered his feet to the ground where one of them collided with something small and soft.

"Belle? What on earth are you doing down there, little doe?"

"I couldn't sleep," murmured Belle.

"Why not?"

"I'm worried."

"About what?"

"I am afraid you're going to get sick and die too, Papa," confessed Belle. "I don't want to lose you as well. I came in here to listen to you snore so that I could be sure that you were still alive."

"I promise I am not going to die, Belle," said Maurice. "Not while you still need me around anyway. Now, go back to bed. It's late."

"I'm not tired," said Belle.

"Would you like me to read to you?" asked Maurice.

"No, thank you."

"Are you hungry?" asked Maurice."Do you want some milk and bread?"

"I used to listen to Mama's heartbeat when I couldn't sleep, but I can't do that anymore," said Belle sadly.

"You could listen to my heartbeat," suggested Maurice.

"I could try," said Belle doubtfully. She climbed up onto Maurice's knee and pressed her ear to his chest. She pulled her head away several moments later. "I'm sorry, Papa. It's just not the same."

Belle climbed off Maurice's knee and onto the bed. Her hand slipped on a big piece of cotton fabric that had been lying next to her father.

"What's Mama's nightgown doing here?" she asked, holding the nightgown in her hands.

"It still has her scent on it. I can't sleep without it," admitted Maurice.

"Oh. You know, Papa, you might not have Mama any more, but you still have me."

"I know, Belle," he said quietly. "I am so lucky I have you to help me through this. If I didn't have your cute little face to look forward to, I probably wouldn't even get up in the morning."

"And I'm lucky I still have you," said Belle. " But, Papa, I have to be honest with you, I don't think you are dealing with Mama's death properly. You need to get on with your life. That's what she would want. Of course, I don't think I am dealing with it well either. Aunty Celine is right. I should be dealing with my grief, not repressing it. The problem is, I don't know how to feel about it. I've been looking through my books for answers, but so far I haven't found any that work for me. Seneca wrote that death is the wish of some, the relief of many, and the end of all, and Francis Bacon once said it is as natural to die as to be born. I know that I should be happy that Mama isn't suffering anymore. I just can't accept that it was natural for her to die. Old people die naturally. Mama was still quite young. I needed her."

"I don't know how to feel about it either, little doe," admitted Maurice. "Sofia had so much to live for. I would do anything to bring her back to us, but at least she isn't in pain anymore."

"We will get through this together, Papa," said Belle smiling.

"Come with me," Maurice said, taking Belle's hand. He picked up the candle from the nightstand and his daughter over to the chest of drawers. He forced the bottom drawer open and pulled out a small wooden box. "I was planning to give you this when you were a little bit older, but now is as good a time as any," said Maurice, handing his daughter the box. "I gave this to your mother on our seventh anniversary. It was only a few days before you were born, actually. I can still remember that day perfectly."

* * *

_Maurice gently closed the front door and stepped into the living room where his wife was fingering her enormous stomach. Sofia looked up and eyed him with disdain. Maurice approached her nervously._

_"Where have you been?" she demanded. "Dinner's getting cold."_

_"I've got a present for you," announced Maurice. Sofia's eyes lit up. He handed her a small, wooden box. "I have been saving up for it ever since we lost our first baby. I've been doing some extra carpentry work on the side. That's why I've been gone so much lately."_

_"You didn't need to get me a present, dolce," gasped Sofia. "You should have saved that money and spent it on stuff for the baby."_

_"We've already got everything we need for the baby," said Maurice, taking a seat on the settee next to her. He rubbed her abdomen lovingly. "These last couple of months have been tough on you. I wanted to get you something to make you feel special. Walter made it, and he only charged me for the cost of the materials. Open it."_

_Sofia rested the box on the her stomach, pushed the lid open and inspected the contents. Inside, sitting on purple velvet, was a beautiful, shining red garnet pendant dangling from a very thin gold chain._

_"It's beautiful, Maurice. I love it," breathed Sofia. Her eyes went wide and placed a hand on her belly. "The baby likes it too."_

_Maurice reached out and placed both of his hand's on Sofia's globular stomach._

_"She's strong, isn't she," he said, grinning from ear to ear._

_"It could be a boy, you know," warned Sofia._

_"I know for a fact that the baby is going to be a girl, Sofia," Maurice told her. "Ooh! She's energetic too."_

_"You can say that again," groaned Sofia, rubbing her bulbous abdomen. "The little thing won't stop kicking me. I haven't had a full night's sleep in months."_

_"Sounds like she's going to be a great dancer like her mama," said Maurice. Sofia beamed, carefully placed the necklace back in its box, and attempted to heave herself out of the settee, but to no avail._

_"Can you help me up, dear?" she asked. Maurice hastily obliged. "Our dinner's getting cold. I made chicken and potatoes, and I didn't burn a single thing," she said proudly, taking Maurice's hand as she waddled into the kitchen with him._

* * *

"Mama showed this to me once," Belle said as she fastened the necklace around her neck and admired herself in the mirror. "It's beautiful. She told me it meant more to her than any other thing she had ever owned. She said she had never worn it because she didn't feel right about wearing something so grand and expensive when she had never given you anything in return. She was saving up enough money to buy you a gold pocket watch."

"Promise me you'll take good care of it, Belle," said Maurice, as an enormous grin spread over his face. It was the first time he had smiled in months.

"I will," yawned Belle.

"Sounds like it's time you went back to bed," said Maurice, smiling.

"Good night, Papa," Belle whispered. "I love you."

Belle kissed her father on the head, picked up the candle, and headed towards the door.

"Belle, wait!"

"Yes, Papa?" Belle turned around to face her father.

"I hope you're not still blaming yourself," said Maurice. "It really wasn't your fault. Your mother was already very sick. Her death... It was inevitable."

Belle looked awkwardly down at the floor, turned around, and left the room without saying a word. She made her way into her own bedroom, carefully removed the necklace, and gently placed it back into the box. She opened, her mother's lace fichu, her pointe shoes, the doll Maurice had brought back from the fair, and a lock of Sofia's hair tied up with one of her red hair ribbons. She removed the fichu from the drawer and put the jewellery box in its place. She gently closed the drawer and crawled into bed with the fichu. It still smelt like her mother. She pressed it to her face and curled up into a ball.

"I am so sorry, Mama," she whispered.


	23. Gunmetal

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

_July 1st, 1751_

On the coast of Brittany, just two miles away from Brest, stood an old, derelict chateau. An almost quaint little stone path lead through an overgrown garden filled with toxic plant life and infested with rats and deadly snakes. The brick walls were covered in a thick layer of poison ivy. Mortals who dared to step foot inside the chateau were rarely seen again. In a large, dark room on the third floor, a strikingly attractive woman with bone white skin and hair the colour of bat wings was bent over a large cauldron, pouring the contents of a dark blue bottle into it as she recited incantations in a low, hushed voice.

"Sally? It's three in the morning. Come back to bed."

Salacia looked up from her cauldron to see a handsome, muscular man dressed in only a tight pair of linen drawers standing in the doorway.

"I've got it, Aries!" she declared, an enormous grin spreading over her pale face. "I finally know how to get revenge on that dreadful woman!"

"Ariana again, Sal? You're obsessed with her. It's been ninety-five years. I think it's time to let it go," yawned Aries as he wrapped his arms around Salacia's slim waist and sucked on her neck.

"She killed my mother!" yelled Salacia, pulling herself away from Aries.

"And your mother killed her mother," said Aries. "Not to mention her father, her uncle, her best friend, her familiar, five of her cousins, and the entirety of Atlantis."

"That's beside the point," said Salacia, frowning. "I promised my mother that I would avenge her death, and that is exactly what I am going to do, even if it kills me in the process. That awful little strumpet married her preceptor just a few years after she became a fully qualified enchantress. He is six hundred years older than her, isn't that revolting?" Salacia shuddered. "She dropped her litter just a few years ago. Her offspring have not yet reached maturity and are essentially powerless. They are perfect targets. Unfortunately, after Ariana killed my mother, she cast a spell that prevents me or anyone else in our family from directly harming anyone in her family, but I have come up with a brilliant plan. I'm surprised I didn't think of this before, actually."

"What is it?" asked Aries curiously.

"You'll see."

Salacia waved her hands and the cauldron was lifted up into the air by an invisible magical force. It floated over to the desk in the corner of the room. It tilted itself sideways and a thick, blue, clay-like substance spilled out onto the table. The cauldron sat itself down on the floor. Salacia moved behind the desk, waved her hands again, and the substance quickly moulded itself into the shape of a monster with long horns, sharp claws, and vicious fangs. Salacia picked up the small statue and placed it on the floor.

"Stand back," she ordered, taking her place beside Aries.

Salacia said a few quick incantations, and, within seconds, the small statue began to shake and grow in size. Thick red fur began to develop all over its body, and its horns and fangs turned a murky yellow. Its claws grew into talons, and its eyes turned a shade of deep red. It towered over them, saliva dripping from its fangs. Salacia moved forward and scratched the monster lovingly under its chin.

"It is nigh un-vanquishable. I have made sure it cannot be harmed by any of Ariana's magic," Salacia told Aries proudly. She turned back to the monster. "You know what to do," she told it.

The monster growled and leapt out of the window, sending shards of glass flying in all directions, and set off on its journey. It took the monster just over two hours to reach the village. Unfortunately, there was one thing that Salacia hadn't counted on. Ariana had cast a protective spell over her house that prevented dark magic from harming anyone inside shortly after her daughters had been born. A large, invisible forcefield that surrounded the little cottage prevented the monster from going within ten feet of it. The monster had no choice but to wait outside the cottage for the girls to come out. Unfortunately, when the sun dawned the next morning the monster was transformed back into its statue form.

A four year old boy came across the statue a few hours later, took it home, and placed it on his windowsill. That night, at the turn of midnight, the monster came to life once again. The boy and his parents managed to escape from their house before the monster reduced it to a pile of rubble. As it was unable to harm the triplets, it instead chose to terrorise the village. Farmers awoke to find their barns completely demolished and entire flocks of mutilated sheep scattered around their fields. At five o'clock, just before dawn broke, the monster retreated to a cave not far from the village so that he would not be found and destroyed while in his vulnerable statue form.

Theseus and Ariana did their best to stop the monster, but not even their most powerful vanquishing spells worked against it, though Ariana did manage to put a protective spell over all the houses in the village so that her neighbours could stay safe as long as they stayed inside.

* * *

_"Did you have fun hunting with Papa today, Gaston?" asked Amelie-Rose._

_"Uh-huh!" chirped Gaston happily as his mother pulled his shirt up over his head._

_Amelie-Rose bent down to remove his boots when she noticed a large bruise on her son's shoulder._

_"What is this?" she asked, gently circling a finger around the bruise._

_"I missed my chance to shoot a stag today so Papa hit me," Gaston told her. "He says it's the only way I'll learn."_

_Amelie-Rose frowned. She quickly finished changing Gaston into his nightclothes, tucked her son into bed, kissed him on the forehead, and left the room. Gaston closed his eyes and nestled his head against his pillow, a peaceful smile spreading over his little face._

_"We need to talk about Greg, Gerald," he heard his mother's voice say._

_The mention of his deceased older brother's name intrigued Gaston. He pulled his blankets back and crept over to the door. He pulled it open slightly, and peered into the the living room. His father sat in an armchair by the fireplace, staring dully into the flames as Amelie-Rose stood next to him._

_"I thought we agreed to never mention his name again," said Gerald stiffly._

_"No, you ordered us to never mention him," said Amelie-Rose. "He was our son, Gerald. We can't just forget about him."_

_"He was weak," said Gerald. "He was a coward. He didn't deserve the life we gave him."_

_"You put too much pressure on him. He couldn't live up to your expectations. It was his only way out," said Amelie-Rose. "Now you're making the same mistake with Gaston. You already killed one of our sons, Gerald. I don't want to lose Gaston as well."_

_"Gaston isn't a weakling or a coward like his brother. He can handle it," replied Gerald._

_"That's what you said about Greg," said Amelie-Rose. "Can't you just put a little less pressure on Gaston? He is only five years old."_

_"No," said Gerald bluntly. "He can handle it. I know he can."_

_Amelie-Rose turned around and stalked back towards Gaston's bedroom. Gaston quickly climbed back into bed and pretended to be asleep._

_"What are you doing?" demanded Gerald._

_"Gaston and I are leaving," said Amelie-Rose. "I need to protect my son from his monster of a father."_

_"Oh? And where exactly are you planning to take him?" asked Gerald snidely. "You have no money, no skills, no place to go."_

_"I don't care," replied Amelie-Rose. "Anywhere is better than here. He isn't safe around you."_

_Gaston heard his father stand up and walk in the direction of Gaston's room. Something slammed against his door._

_"Stop it, stop it!" his mother's voice screamed. "Let go of me, you oaf!"_

_Gaston heard a crash and a loud thud coming from the living room. His parents' voices were both silenced. After what seemed like an eternity, Gaston heard his father's heavy footsteps walk across the room and open the door of the living room closet. The front door slammed shut a few moments later._

_Amelie-Rose did not come into Gaston's room the next morning. For the first time in his short life, Gaston woke up on his own and dressed himself. He wandered out into the living room to find his father choosing a blunderbuss from the gun rack._

_"Papa?"_

_"Get your gun," ordered Gerald, glancing back at his son. "We're going hunting."_

_"Where is Mama?" asked Gaston._

_"Your mother is gone," Gerald replied._

_"Where did she go?"_

_"She is dead," Gerald said curtly._

_"Oh." Gaston looked down at his feet and let the news sink in. He tried as hard as he could to hold back his tears, but it was no use. He began to sob, putting his hands over his face so that his father would not see the warm, salty tears that were stinging his cold cheeks._

_"Gaston, men don't cry," Gerald admonished curtly._

_Gaston wiped his face on his shirt and forced a stony expression onto his face._

_"We're going hunting," Gerald repeated as he strode towards the door. "Come on, boy!"_

* * *

"Get up!" barked Gerald as he jabbed his seventeen year old son awake. "We're going hunting."

Gerald stalked out of the room as Gaston forced himself out of bed. He threw on the first clothes he could find, and stumbled out into the living room where his father was waiting by the door. He was about to take a gun from the rack on the wall when he remembered the dream he had about his mother's death. He had been flashing back to that moment for twelve years now. It followed him everywhere, even into his dreams. He had never had the courage to ask his father about what had really happened that night.

"Come on, boy!" Gerald roared impatiently

"Papa, how did Mama die?" asked Gaston after a few moments of hesitation.

"I told you not to mention her again, ever," hissed Gerald, his face twisting into a bitter scowl.

"You killed her, didn't you," said Gaston quietly.

Gerald's eyes widened in fury.

"What did you say?" he roared, grabbing Gaston by the collar.

"I heard you-"

"How dare you accuse me of something like that!" Gerald roared. "I am your father! I deserve your respect!"

Gerald slammed Gaston's body against the wall and aimed two punches at his son's face.

"I'm sorry, Papa," Gaston spluttered, blood leaking from his mouth.

Gerald raised his arm to deliver one final blow. Gaston closed his eyes and waited for his father's hand to collide with his face. It never came. Gaston opened his eyes to see Gerald hunched over, clutching his chest and breathing deeply.

"What's wrong, Papa?" Gaston asked alarmed.

Gerald looked up at his son. His face had turned completely white. He stared at Gaston for a few moments, before he collapsed onto the floor.

Gaston stood staring at his father's unconscious body for quite some time. He knew that Gerald was dead. His icy blue eyes were lifeless and cold. They looked just Greg's eyes had looked when Gaston had first discovered his body. Gaston looked around, thinking to himself. He had to do something. He retrieved an old shovel from the closet, slung his father's enormous body over his shoulder and went outside. He gently laid Gerald's body down on the grass, chose a piece of ground that he knew was close to his mother's, brother's, and sister's unmarked graves, and began to dig, inwardly hoping that he didn't come across any of his family members' bones along the way. After throwing his father's body into his grave and refilling the hole, Gaston solemnly went back into the cottage, picked up his father's old blunderbuss from the ground, and went hunting.

That night, as he was eating his latest kill in the empty cottage(which seemed a lot larger now that he was the only one living there), something finally dawned on him. He was free now. He could eat whatever he wanted, wake up whenever he wanted, and go hunting whenever he wanted. Now, finally, he could leave.

His father had only been dead for fifteen hours and he was already starting to feel lonely. Gerald may have enjoyed living alone in the middle of the woods, but Gaston craved human interaction. There were too many memories in this house. Everywhere he looked he saw something that reminded him of his mother or of his brother. He yearned for a change of scenery. He had lived in the middle of the woods his entire life. He had never been away from the little cottage for more than a few hours. He wanted to meet other people and explore a different forest. If he had ever told his father this, Gerald would have beaten him into a bloody pulp. He needed to leave. He didn't know where he would go, or how he would get there. He just knew that he had to leave.

The next morning, he woke up early, ate his usual breakfast of five dozen eggs, twenty-five slices of bacon, and a baguette, and started preparing for his journey. He slung a gun over his shoulder, and stuffed a knife, some clothing, the money his father had stashed under his bed, and all of his spare bullets into bag. Gaston retrieved a saddle and bridle from the tiny stable attached to the cottage and went out into the small paddock at the back of the house where George, his father's old horse, was grazing. He mounted the horse and set off on his journey.

It took him three hours to reach Paris, where he visited a brothel and felt the sensual touch of a woman for the first time in his life. He found a small tavern and spent a long night being fawned over by an older barmaid who reminded him quite a bit of his mother and who insisted on serving him pitcher after pitcher of beer. The next morning, he woke up in bed next to the barmaid. He made his escape before she woke up and headed south. He rode non-stop through tiny villages, large bustling cities, and lush forests, until he came to one small, unassuming town that didn't look too different from Roux, the village he had often visited as a child. It was getting late, so Gaston dismounted and started looking around for an inn he could spend the night in.

Michel Desrosiers had just finished locking up the tavern when he saw Gaston leading his horse through the village. The sight struck him as rather odd. It was almost midnight, and the majority of his neighbours had bolted themselves inside their houses hours ago.

"What are you doing?" he called, running towards Gaston. "Don't just stand there. You need to get home. Wait, I've never seen you around here before. Are you new?"

"I'm just passing through actually," answered Gaston, confused.

"In that case, come with me," Michel ordered. "Quickly! We don't have much time."

Michel quickly lead Gaston up to his cottage, locked George in his barn, and took him inside.

"Your horse will be safe in my barn. Can I get you anything? Some food, perhaps? Oh, I am Michel, by the way. I should have introduced myself before," said Michel, sticking out his hand. "And your name is..."

"Gaston, and no, I'm not hungry," said Gaston, shaking Michel's hand.

"My, you're quite a big lad, aren't you? How old are you?"

"I will be eighteen next month."

"And you're hurt!" gasped Michel, noticing the bruises on Gaston's face. "Who did this to you?"

"My father."

"Why?"

"I disobeyed him and asked him about my mother's death," Gaston told him. "I'm not allowed to mention my mother. Or my brother."

"Why not?"

"They were weak," said Gaston. "They deserved to die. That's what Papa always said."

"Where is he?" asked Michel, rage building in his stomach.

"He died a few days ago," said Gaston solemnly.

"Oh," said Michel, wondering whether to congratulate Gaston or offer him his condolences. "I'm sorry to hear that. But at least you're safe from him now."

"My father was a great man, really," insisted Gaston. "He just had a bad temper. It was my fault actually. I shouldn't have provoked him."

"Where do you live?" asked Michel, looking at Gaston with a concerned frown on his face. "And why did you leave? Where are you going?"

"I don't know where I'm going," admitted Gaston. "I used to live in a forest just north of Paris. I couldn't stay in my old house. There were too many memories. And I have never been more than a few miles away from my house before. After my father died I felt like I had to leave. His death set me free, somehow."

"I know how you feel. I've lived in this house my entire life. My parents both died here. I've been alone for seventeen years. If I could leave, I would," sighed Michel.

"Don't you have any family?" Gaston asked.

"I have a brother who lives in Paris, and a niece who would be about eight or nine years old now. I haven't seen her since she was a baby," answered Michel. "She was an adorable little thing. My brother always hated living in this place. He escaped as soon as he could. I never really understood why he hated this place until I got older. I keep meaning to go visit them, but things keep happening that prevent me from going."

"Why don't you get married?" asked Gaston. "Then you wouldn't be alone."

"Marriage isn't for me," said Michel, forcing a pained smile. "I own the tavern in this town. One of my bartenders just left town to marry a girl in another village. I can give you a job if you like. There is also a small room you can live in. What do you think?"

Gaston considered Michel's offer. He didn't particularly want to go home, and he was running out of money. It was probably best he did take him up on his offer.

"I'll do it!"

"I'll take you over there tomorrow," said Michel. "It isn't safe to be out after midnight now."

"Why not?" asked Gaston curiously. "What's out there?"

"A monster," breathed Michel, staring out the window, a worried frown stretching over his face. "You may stay here tonight. The spare room is at the top of the stairs."

Over the next week, Michel began to develop a fatherly fondness for Gaston. Though he had never fancied the idea of getting married, he had always wanted to be a father. Unfortunately he had never gotten the chance to be one. Belle lived over a hundred miles away from him so he had never even had the chance to be an uncle to her. He hoped that some day Gaston would come to see him as a father figure.

With the exception of Ariana and Theseus(who kept to themselves most of the time), the entire town was intrigued by the arrival of this mysterious, handsome young man. The men who frequented the tavern were impressed by the boy's hunting stories and his ability to drink an entire barrel of beer in mere seconds. Gaston was also very popular with the barmaids, who would spend more time fawning over him than they did serving drinks.

Meanwhile, Theseus and Ariana's three daughters could only talk about two things. The first was Gaston. They were on the cusp of becoming young women themselves and had already begun to show interest in the opposite sex. Unfortunately for them, the only boy in the village close to their age was LeFou who, at this point, was far more interested in playing in the mud and collecting bugs than he was in girls. Gaston came along at just the right time. The girls would spend hours discussing his chilling icy blue eyes, rippling muscles, and shiny black hair.

"I don't understand it," confessed Ariana as she and her daughters had caught sight of Gaston as they were walking through town one day. "The boy is cute and all, but is he really that special? Why do you girls talk about him so much?"

"Oh, Mother, what would you know?" snorted Acantha. "You're married to Daddy! He must be nine hundred years old!"

"Actually I think he's closer to a thousand," said Ariana quietly

Their second favourite subject was the monster that was terrorising the village. Their parents had taken to bolting their door shut so that they could not sneak out to take a look at the monster. Previously, the girls had no interest in the monster, but all three of them had been going through a rebellious phase and would go to ridiculous lengths in order to do the opposite of what their parents told them to do. Acantha found a long, strong rope in the back of her father's shop and snuck it back to her bedroom. That night, she and her sisters waited for their parents to go to bed before they tied the rope to the end of one of their beds and threw the other end out the window. Acantha slid down the rope first and was soon followed by Phaedra. Xanthia looked down at her sisters from their bedroom window and stared at the rope hesitantly.

"Come on, Xanthia," called Phaedra. "Don't you want to see the monster?"

"Yes, but-" began Xanthia.

"But what?" snapped Acantha.

"What if we get eaten?" asked Xanthia worriedly.

"We're just going to take a quick look at it and then go home," said Phaedra. "We won't go anywhere near it, I promise."

"Or you could just stay here," said Acantha snidely. "You would probably just get in the way."

"I will not get in the way, Acantha," said Xanthia angrily.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Xanthia slid down the rope and joined her sisters on the ground.

"What are you girls doing?" called LeFou from his bedroom on the first floor of the house opposite them.

"We're going to see the monster," Xanthia told him.

"Xanthia!" Acantha hissed.

"Ooh! Can I come too?" asked LeFou hopefully.

"No!" said Acantha and Phaedra together.

"Please?" pleaded LeFou. "I promise I won't get in the way."

"Okay, fine," grumbled Acantha. "Just hurry up."

LeFou climbed out of his window and joined the girls. The four children crept through the streets with baited breath. Xanthia kept a tight grip on Phaedra's hand. LeFou bit his fingernails worriedly.

"There it is!" exclaimed Acantha excitedly, pointing towards the Desrosiers' property.

"Can we go home now?" asked Xanthia hopefully.

The monster had been making its way up the path towards the Desrosiers cottage, but it stopped in its tracks as soon as it heard Acantha's voice. It slowly turned around, its eyes glowing menacingly. The monster bounded towards the four children who stood rooted to the ground, paralysed with fear. The monster was about to pounce on them when they heard a gunshot. The monster fell to the ground. Its body glowed light blue and was transformed back into its statue form, which was now spread over the pavement in several broken pieces. The children looked up to see Gaston standing over the pieces, holding a smoking gun. Unfortunately, Salacia had not reckoned with the power of modern technology when she had created the monster.

The next day, the town held a big party for Gaston that lasted almost an entire week. The mild interest that the village had in the young man quickly grew into a full-on obsession, and no one had a bigger obsession with him than LeFou. LeFou had never had a real friend before. There were no other boys his age in the village. Though he occasionally shared a conversation with Xanthia, his childhood had been very lonely. Saving LeFou's life had won Gaston the boy's eternal respect. The twelve year old followed the older boy everywhere and could talk about nothing but Gaston whenever he wasn't with him.

Gaston, who had been dominated by his father his entire life, relished in the attention the town gave him. He had complete power over the village now. They worshipped the very ground he walked on. Shopkeepers no longer accepted his money. They just gave him all the food and goods he wanted. As the weeks went by, the power began to go to his head. The more women fawned over him, the more he began to notice his own good looks. His ego got bigger every day. On the rare occasions where one of the villagers refused to do something that Gaston ordered him to do, he still managed to bully them into doing it anyway. The obedient boy who would do anything his father told him to do was long gone. A confident, egotistical, narcissistic man who used violence to get what he wanted stood in his place. Gaston had become his father.


	24. Chestnut

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

_December 2nd, 1751_

"Belle, there's a couple of kids your age outside. Why don't you go out and play with them?"

Belle set aside her book and crossed the enormous drawing room to look out of the large bow window her father was peering out of. A trio of young boys were chasing each other up and down the street.

"Those are boys, Papa!" she exclaimed, a look of disgust crossing her face.

"Boys aren't all bad, Belle," said Maurice, frowning. "I used to be one, you know."

As Belle tried to imagine her balding, white-haired, moustachioed father as a boy her age, a well-dressed, elegant middle aged woman with curly silver hair and a waxen complexion came bustling into the room carrying a tray of bread, cheese, and milk.

"I brought you two some lunch," she said, placing the tray down on a table in the middle of the large drawing room.

"Ah, you are very kind, Madame St. Pierre," said Maurice, beaming. He set down the square of glass paper he had been using to sand down a slab of wood and walked over to the table. "Belle, come and eat."

"Are you almost done?" asked Madame St. Pierre, glancing over at the half-finished cabinet in the corner of the room.

"Not even close," said Maurice. "I will probably have to come back tomorrow to finish it."

"Oh no, you have to have it finished by tomorrow," gasped Madame St. Pierre. "I promised my husband that it would be done by the time he returns home from Marseille, and he is due back tomorrow morning. I don't care if it takes you all night. I'll pay you extra if I have to."

"We really can't stay that long," said Maurice, frowning. "Belle needs to be in bed by nine."

"Then you'd better hurry up then," said Madame St. Pierre curtly. She turned on her heel and stalked out of the room.

"I'm sorry, Belle," Maurice sighed, turning back to the half finished cabinet.

"That's okay, Papa," said Belle, downing an entire roll of bread in one gulp. "Do you want me to help? We could probably get it done faster if we worked together."

"Thank you for the offer, little doe, but small hands don't belong around hammers and saws," said Maurice. "Just sit there and read your book."

It was almost midnight by the time Maurice had finished making the cabinet. Belle had already fallen asleep on the settee, with her book lying on her face and Maurice's coat covering her tiny, delicate body.

"Wake up, little doe. We have to go now," Maurice whispered, gently patting his daughter's cheek.

Maurice packed his tools up, pocketed the money that Madame St. Pierre had left lying on the kitchen table and he and Belle set off on their journey home. Maurice gripped his daughter's tiny hand tightly as they navigated their way through the streets of Paris.

Maurice had been working almost non-stop for a couple of months now. Prior to her death, Sofia had managed to support them almost single-handedly. Maurice had felt guilty allowing his wife to support him, but she had insisted on it so that he could spend more time working on his inventions. They had lived quite comfortably on the money she earned. Now, taxes were rising and so was the average price of a loaf of bread. Maurice often had to work all day and well into the night in order to make enough money to support both Belle and himself. It was exhausting and he had little time for himself, but it was all worth it when Belle crawled into his arms when they sat by the fire after dinner each night.

He would usually take Belle along with him whenever he went to do carpentry work in one of his neighbours' houses. She would sit quietly in a corner, reading a book as he worked. In a year or two, Belle would be old enough to start staying home on her own, though the mere idea of his little daughter being on her own for an entire day made Maurice feel uneasy. There was no telling what could happen if he left her home by herself. The thought of losing his daughter just as he had lost Sofia tore him up inside. She was the only thing that got him out of bed in the morning. Belle was nine years old now, though she was so small she could easily pass for six or seven. He'd tried to convince himself that this was merely the result of the traits she had inherited from her parents. Sofia had had a thin, delicate body and he was just a little over four foot eight himself. But even Sofia hadn't been this thin on her deathbed.

Belle's weight perturbed Maurice more than anything else. It didn't make any sense. He made sure she ate three meals a day. He always had the exact same amount of food as her and he was still as chubby as ever. Something else had to be causing Belle's weight loss. Maurice's own physical appearance had also radically changed over the past few months. A year ago, he'd had a head full of chestnut brown hair. Now, not only was it completely white, but he was going bald as well. He looked a good ten years older than he really was. Maurice had, however, fulfilled Sofia's dying request and grown a moustache for her.

By the time they finally arrived home, Belle could barely keep her eyes open.

"Now, it's off to bed with you, little doe," ordered Maurice gently, pointing towards the staircase.

"No bedtime story?" asked Belle, disappointed.

"You're getting a bit old for bedtime stories," said Maurice, raising an eyebrow. "You've been reading on your own since you were three."

"But I like being read to even more!" insisted Belle. "I can lie back and focus my energy on picturing the characters in my mind."

"Fine, fine, I'll read you," Maurice said, chuckling. "Go upstairs and get changed into your nightgown and I'll be there in a moment."

"I need to check on Harriette first," said Belle, yawning. "Her trough probably needs filling. It will only take a few minutes."

Belle scampered out the door as Maurice headed down into the cellar to put his tools away. He didn't spend much time in his workshop these days. He just didn't have the time, energy, or heart to work on any of his inventions. His inspiration had died along with Sofia. In fact, lately Belle had been spending more time down there than he was. She was dead-set on continuing her mother's dancing legacy. Maurice had cleared out a section of his workshop and installed a barre so that she had somewhere to practice.

Perhaps it was stress that was preventing Belle from gaining weight. He hadn't seen his daughter play in months. She did nothing but read, study, and practice ballet. If only there was some way he could force her to start having fun again. Belle seemed reluctant to make friends with the other children in their neighbourhood, and he didn't have the time or energy to play with her now.

"Papa!" he heard Belle's voice cry frantically from the living room.

Maurice quickly hurried upstairs where he found Belle standing in the doorway, looking very upset.

"Papa, Harriette's in pain!" she cried, grabbing her father's hand and pulling him out the door and towards the stable. Harriette was lying on her side in the hay, breathing deeply and letting out pained whinnies. Maurice crouched down and felt the horse's stomach.

"No, Belle. It's alright," Maurice said, standing up and smiling at his daughter. "She's just foaling."

"So she's going to have a baby?" asked Belle excitedly.

"That's right," Maurice confirmed. "And from the looks of it, it's going to happen very soon."

"We need to help her, Papa!" cried Belle. "She's in so much pain!"

"I grew up in the countryside," Maurice said calmly, setting himself down on a bale of hay in the corner of the stable. "I've seen more than my share of horse births. It is best we let her deal with it on her own."

Maurice couldn't help but feel ashamed of himself. He had been so busy working and dealing with Sofia's death that he hadn't even noticed that Harriette was pregnant. He had put Belle in charge of feeding her and keeping her stable clean so he hadn't had much contact with her.

"This reminds me of the day you were born," Maurice said, as Belle settled on his lap. "Your mother was in labour for eighteen hours. I was so nervous I couldn't even sit down. I just wish I could have been allowed in the room to see you come into the world. The sight of your mother holding you in her arms for the first time is still the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."

"That doesn't sound fair, Papa," said Belle, frowning. "I'm your child too. Why couldn't you be there too?"

"That's just the way the world works," said Maurice, shrugging.

"Papa?" Belle asked, turning her head around to look at her father.

"Yes, Belle?"

"You know babies? And how they grow in their mother's stomach?"

"Yes?" Maurice did not like where this was going.

"How do they get in there?"

Maurice's face turned bright red. He had assumed that Sofia had already sat down with Belle and discussed the more personal and private aspects of life with her. This was a conversation a young girl should be having with her mother, not her father. He barely knew anything about the female body.

"Your mother never told you?" he asked.

"She said I was too young to know," Belle said, staring up at her father innocently.

"W-well, your mother and I... I mean, a man and a woman have to-" Maurice stammered, his face growing even redder with every word that he said.. "Your mother was right. You are too young."

Two hours later, a tiny foal with thin brown fur, a short golden mane, and a long white stripe down its face lay next to its mother, its head resting on its exceedingly long front legs.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" Belle asked, reaching out to scratch the newborn foal behind its ears.

Maurice quickly checked beneath its legs.

"It's a boy."

"A boy," Belle groaned, disappointed. The last thing the world needed was more boys!

The little foal lifted his head up and blinked his enormous brown eyes at her. Belle quickly forgot her disappointment and beamed back at him. The baby horse carefully positioned its hooves and pushed itself upright. Belle giggled as she watched the newborn colt stumble around the stable on his four long, spindly legs.

"Belle, I have some bad news. Remember what happened to Madame Patenaude down the street?" asked Maurice quietly.

"She died giving birth to little Fernande," said Belle before a look of realisation crossed her face. "Oh no, Papa. Y-you don't mean that Harriette-"

Maurice nodded solemnly.

"Oh, Papa," Belle wailed, pressing her face into Maurice's chest.

"Don't cry, Belle," whispered Maurice, stroking his daughter's hair soothingly. "Everyone has to go sometime, even horses."

"But what about her poor little colt?" asked Belle tearfully. "He's motherless now!"

"Well, we will just have to take extra good care of him, won't we?"

Belle wiped away her tears and nodded.

"I feel like we have a connection already," she said. "I know what it's like to lose your mother. I'm going to play with him and take care of him and-"

"You can do all that tomorrow. It's way past your bedtime, young lady," said Maurice firmly.

"But he needs me!" insisted Belle, hugging the little horse's neck.

"I won't leave his side, I promise," Maurice told her.

Belle took one last look at the horse and reluctantly exited the stable and went upstairs to bed, where she fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. The next morning, she leapt out of bed and, without bothering to change out of her nightgown, ran down to the stable where she found her father feeding the little colt with one of her old baby bottles. Harriette's body had been removed. All that remained of her was an old saddle hanging on the wall.

"Can you teach me how to ride him, Papa?" Belle asked as she stroked the little colt's back.

"In a few years, Belle," said Maurice. "He's not strong enough for it yet."

"I'm going to name him Philippe after Philip Sidney. Astrophel and Stella was one of the last books Mama and I read together," Belle told her father. "Plus, phil means love in ancient Greek. I can't think of a more perfect name for someone I already love so much."

For the next few weeks, Belle spent almost every moment of her spare time with Philippe. She would spend hours feeding him, playing with him, and grooming him. She would read to him every night before she went to bed. To Maurice's relief, Belle slowly began to gain weight again. He hadn't seen Belle this happy in over a year. Later that month, Belle and Maurice celebrated their first Christmas since Sofia's death. Belle proudly presented a book of poems she had written to her father. Maurice gave his daughter a small headcollar and a rope. Belle used it to take Philippe for long walks through the streets of Paris.

"When we get bigger, Philippe," she said to him as she was feeding him one night. "We will travel all over the land together. Just you and me. And Papa too, if he wants to come."

* * *

_February 19th, 1752_

The Beast wiped the blood from his mouth and looked down at the mangled carcass of the stag he had just caught as felt a sudden wave of shame and disgust come over him. Every night he gave into his animalistic urges and went out to hunt in the forest. He could feel himself becoming more of a monster and less of a human being everyday. The servants prepared delicious, aromatic meals for him, but his stomach rejected the food and made him ill. He had no choice but to feast on raw, bloody, freshly killed animal meat.

"Happy birthday, Master."

The Beast turned around to see Mrs Potts sitting in the doorway. He scowled at her. He had almost gone the entire day without being reminded of his birthday. He was thirteen years old. He had exactly eight years until his twenty-first birthday, when the curse would be made permanent and he would be a beast forever, no matter what happened.

"Don' remind me," he snapped.

Mrs Potts frowned and hopped towards the Beast. Unlike the rest of the servants, she didn't live in fear of him. In fact, she was the only one who could get him to calm down whenever he flew into a rage. It wasn't because she was particularly brave or daring. The Beast that ruled the castle with an iron fist was the same little boy who used to fall asleep in her arms, and that is who she saw whenever she looked at him.

"You're never going to get a girl to fall in love with you with that attitude," she told him.

"That's never going to happen anyway," murmured the Beast quietly.

"You mustn't give up hope, Master," said Mrs Potts soothingly.

"Watch this," the Beast ordered. He stomped over to a small table by the window and picked it up. "Show me the person who will break the curse," he ordered.

The mirror's image did not change. The Beast's reflection continued to stare back at him, almost as if the mirror was taunting him.

"See?" the Beast said, showing Mrs Potts the mirror.

"I don't think the mirror can predict the future, Master," said Mrs Potts.

"Even if a girl did somehow come across the castle, she would never fall in love with me. No one could ever fall in love with me. I'm a monster, not just physically either. I'm destined to be alone forever."

"No, no, there is someone out there for everyone. I think everyone has a soul mate. Every person in the world has someone they are destined to fall in love with, no matter what."

"That's ridiculous!" snorted the Beast.

"Ask it," urged Mrs Potts.

"What?"

"Ask the mirror to show you your soul mate."

"No! The mere idea is preposterous! I don't believe it for a second."

"Then prove it," dared Mrs Potts.

"Show me my soul mate," the Beast ordered reluctantly.

The mirror emitted a quick green flash before an image appeared on the glass. The Beast peered into the mirror and saw, not a person, but a pile of books sitting on a very small bed. It took a few moments for him to notice a small hand poking out of the blankets. The face of the owner of the hand in question was obscured by a large book. So it was true. He did have a soul mate. There was someone out there who would love him no matter what he looked like. Yet they would most likely never meet.

"What did you see?" asked Mrs Potts.

"Nothing," growled the Beast.

"You're lying to me, Adam."

The Beast threw the mirror down and turned to Mrs Potts. He glared down at her threateningly.

"Don't call me that again!" he snarled. "That is the name of a human being, not a monster."

"You're not a monster, Adam," said Mrs Potts softly. "You're a boy."

"Get out!" the Beast screamed, throwing open the door of his room.

* * *

_October 5th, 1753_

"What's wrong, dear?" asked Theseus. "You've been in a mood all evening."

"The girls spent all day following that boy around," said Ariana, sitting down on the settee next to Theseus. "They're obsessed with him. I'm worried about them, Theseus."

"You worry too much, Ariana," sighed Theseus. "Let them have their fun while they still can."

"I don't want them falling in love with a mortal, Theseus!"

"Ariana, I'm shocked. I thought you were more open-minded than that."

"I just don't want them to get their hearts broken," said Ariana. "Relationships between mortals and non-mortals do not end well. One of my aunts fell in love with a mortal about five hundred years ago. He eventually died of old age and poor Aunt Ilithyia has been nursing a broken heart ever since. Besides, that Gaston boy is a piece of work. All the attention this town is giving him is turning him into a monster. It's a shame, really. He seemed so quiet and shy when he first arrived."

"Don't worry, Ariana. They will forget all about him when they begin their studies," Theseus told his wife. He stood up and strode towards the stairs. "I'm going to bed. Are you coming?"

"I'll be up in a minute," murmured Ariana.

When her daughters had first been born, Theseus had insisted they grow up not knowing of their heritage and of their magical powers. They would be told the truth on their twenty-first birthday, when they finally came of age. That was how he had been raised. Ariana was reluctant at first, but agreed to it, believing that her girls would be safer Now, however, she was beginning to regret it.

After a few minutes had passed, Ariana stood and started walking towards the stairs when a knock at the door stopped her in her tracks. She opened the door to find a handsome, honey blond man in his late-thirties standing on the doorstep.

"Ah, Prince Renaud," said Ariana, smiling. "Come in."

"You recognised me," Renaud said, shocked. He sat down on the settee next to Ariana.

"Of course I recognised you, Your Highness," said Ariana. "You were the prince of this region for nine years."

"It is just Renaud now," he said. "I am no longer a prince."

"I am sorry about that."

"Please don't be," said Renaud. "I am much happier as a common man than I ever was as a prince. I have the freedom to do whatever I please now."

"What brings you here?" asked Ariana.

"What happened to my son?"

"What makes you think I know?" queried Ariana, raising an eyebrow.

"You're not human, are you?" said Renaud. "You have a garden full of plants that don't usually grow in this area, I've never seen anyone in this town read, yet your husband owns a bookshop and you seem to have an endless supply of money, and I saw you heal a hurt wolf with your hands yesterday."

"You're quite astute, Renaud," said Ariana, smiling.

"Three years ago we were travelling through Nevers when we heard about my wife's passing," continued Renaud. "We tried to go back to the castle, but we couldn't find it. It was as if it vanished into thin air. We decided to settle in this town so that I could look further into my son's disappearance I rarely visited this village when I was a prince, so no one – except you – has recognised me. We've forged a nice life here. We've got a couple of chickens, a vegetable garden, an old horse."

"And, if I am not mistaken, another little life will be joining you in the near future."

Renaud's jaw dropped.

"What? Josette hasn't even... How did you-" Renaud spluttered before he finally came to his senses. "If you know that, then you must know what happened to my son. Castles don't just disappear into thin air. "

"I cursed him," said Ariana bluntly.

"What?"

"With both you and his mother gone, the little prince turned into a tyrant. His servants refused to discipline him, so I transformed him into a beast," Ariana told him.

"What happened to everyone else at the castle?" asked Renaud.

"I cursed them too."

"What? Why would you do that?"

"They let the prince turn into a tyrant. They deserved to be punished just as much as him. You're lucky I didn't find you and curse you as well," said Ariana.

"You had no right to do that to my son!" yelled Renaud, standing up.

"You had no right to abandon him," countered Ariana.

"You're right," acknowledged Renaud. "I regret doing what I did now. But you don't understand. I had too much responsibility and no freedom. I just wanted to live my life."

"So you forced all your responsibilities onto your ten year old son?"

"I won't deny what I did was wrong, but what you did was just plain unfair. He is only a child. You have to change him back!"

"I can't. He has to undo the curse himself," said Ariana. "He must fall in love with someone, and have them fall in love with him, before his twenty-first birthday."

"And how exactly is he going to accomplish that when you've completely hidden his castle from view?" yelled Renaud.

"I have only hidden the castle from you and other members of nobility so that no one with any kind of power will discover him and spread the news all over the country. It is for his own safety. Trust me, he will break this curse, I will make sure of it," Ariana promised. "Now go home, your wife is waiting for you."

The tiny, two bedroom cottage Renaud and Josette now shared in was starkly different from the enormous castle they had grown up in, yet they felt more at comfortable and at home in it than they had anywhere else. Renaud found his wife sitting up in bed, waiting for him.

"It's almost midnight. You should be asleep," he told her.

"What did you find out?" she asked.

"I will tell you tomorrow," he told his wife, cupping her face with his palm. "You need your rest."

"I can't sleep," she said. "I don't think I will ever have a good night's rest again in my life."

"Don't blame yourself, Josie. It was my fault. You let me go, but I just couldn't accept it. I kept going after you, even though I was married with a child. But we shouldn't dwell on the past, we need to look to the future," Renaud told her, touching her stomach gently.

"I still can't believe this is happening," said Josette. "I thought I was barren. We've been making love for over twenty years. Why now?"

"I can't help but get the feeling that you're not happy about this child," said Renaud. "You're worried that what happened to your mother is going to happen to you, aren't you?"

"We don't deserve a child," said Josette. "Not after what we did."

"The deed's been done, Josette," sighed Renaud. "There's no going back now. We should be happy about it. It isn't fair to the child. I don't want to ruin another one of my children's lives. I'm not going to make any mistakes this time, Josie. I was an awful father to Adam. I loved him, but I was never around. Then I abandoned him altogether. This little person is going to have the best father in the world. But that still doesn't excuse what I did to Adam. I'm going to make it up to him one day, Josie. I don't know how, but I will."


	25. Olive

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

_November 2nd, 1757_

Belle lay on a makeshift bed as an older, taller boy pressed a pillow to her face. A boy her age, dressed in a long, brown robe, rushed into the room and spoke to her for a few moments before she took her final breath. The taller boy fell over Belle's body and began to weep. Another boy stabbed the boy in the dress in the back with a long stick, before the taller boy stabbed himself in the heart. Belle sprang back to life, along with the boys, and they each took a bow. Maurice leapt out of his seat and applauded wildly.

Belle had become acquainted with a small group of people around her age who were regulars at the library near their house. They often got together to discuss the books they had read. Occasionally, they would put on plays and perform them to a small crowd that mostly consisted of their parents and a few other family members. Belle was the only girl of the group so she was always given the large female roles, while the other women's roles were played by some the scrawnier boys in dresses and shawls.

"What did you think, Papa?" Belle asked, rushing forward to embrace her father.

"I didn't understand a single word, but you were wonderful," Maurice told her, beaming with pride.

"Shakespeare's plays should always be performed in English," said Belle. "Translating them ruins the beauty of his prose. I'm sorry, Papa. I hope you still understood it."

"I managed to get the gist of it," said Maurice, smiling. "I remember your mother and I went to see a Shakespeare play together before you were born. What's the one with the two kids who think they're in love with each other, but their families hate each other?"

"You mean Romeo and Juliet? You don't think they really loved each other?" asked Belle, frowning.

"Of course not. They were just children. And they knew each other for about two days before they got married."

"But it was love at first sight, Papa! You said that loved Mama from the moment you saw her!"

"It was more of an infatuation than love, really," said Maurice. "I was attracted to her beauty and grace at first, but I don't think I began to truly fall in love with her until I realised how intelligent and kind she was. You'll understand when you fall in love."

A pained look came over Belle's face. She touched her stomach gently.

"Something wrong, Belle?" asked Maurice, concerned.

"My tummy hurts a bit," Belle replied softly, pressing on her lower abdomen with one of dainty, slender hands.

"We should get going then," said Maurice. "It's getting late anyway."

Belle quickly said good bye to her friends and started to lead her father towards the exit.

"Au revoir, Monsieur Lafont," she called to the librarian.

"Good bye, Belle," the librarian, an old, wizened little man with a long, white beard that reached the floor, called back to her. "Remember, you've got twelve books due back next week."

As they left the library and started walking down the darkened street, Maurice noticed a group of men who couldn't be any younger than twenty-five, staring at his daughter, their eyes gleaming lustfully. He frowned. Maurice knew that look too well. He shot them a glare. He'd always told himself that he would never be one of those overprotective fathers who disapproved of any boy who even looked at their daughters, but he couldn't help it. Perhaps it was just because the idea of anyone having inappropriate thoughts about his little baby girl disgusted him, but he honestly wouldn't have minded so much if it was just young boys looking at his daughter. That was not the case, however. Some of the men he had caught staring at Belle had to be even older than him!

He'd always known that Belle would have an abundance of admirers when she matured. She was her mother's daughter, after all. He just hadn't expected it to happen so suddenly. About a year ago, just a few months her fourteenth birthday, Belle had gone through a massive growth spurt. Her figure began to fill out and and she grew a good five inches seemingly overnight. The men who barely even noticed her before now couldn't take their eyes off her. The women who used to coo over her and tell him what a cute daughter he had now eyed her enviously. Thankfully, despite having just celebrated her fifteenth birthday, Belle had not yet developed an interest in the opposite sex, aside from a few brief infatuations she'd had with the heroes of her storybooks, and barely even noticed the way people now looked at her. She still spent most of her time reading, though she would often saddle up Philippe and ride him out to explore the fields and streams just outside of the city.

Belle and Maurice went to bed as soon as they got home. The next morning, Maurice woke up just after the sun rose and went downstairs to start making breakfast for Belle and himself. He had just started filling up two bowls with warm porridge when Belle came running in. Her face was red and her eyes were full of tears.

"Papa!" she screamed, leaning down to bury her face into his chest.

"Belle, calm down! What's wrong?"

"I'm dying, Papa," she sobbed.

"Dying?" repeated Maurice, raising an eyebrow. "What happened? Are you sick?"

"I woke up and there was blood all over my sheets," Belle wailed. "And it feels like a thousand knives are stabbing me in the tummy. What's wrong with me, Papa? "

"Oh." Maurice felt all the blood rush out of his face. "Don't worry, Belle. There is nothing wrong with you. That's normal."

"Normal?" Belle repeated, blinking. "Does it happen to everyone?"

Maurice bit his lip. If only there was an older woman around he trusted enough to sit down and talk to her. Celine and Walter were visiting his family in England, and he couldn't imagine dear old Madame Bisette next door talking the most private aspects of a woman's life. Suddenly, an idea struck him!

"I will be back in a minute," Maurice told her, setting one of the bowls down on the kitchen table. "Just sit there and eat your breakfast."

Maurice quickly rushed through the streets and towards the library. Belle would probably feel a lot more comfortable learning this stuff from a book than from a woman she barely knew.

"Ah, Monsieur Desrosiers," exclaimed Monsieur Lafont, greeting him with a kind smile. "Belle's not here, if you're looking for her."

"She's at home," said Maurice. "I was just wondering if, uh, well..."

"Yes?"

"Do you have any books on female anatomy?" Maurice blurted out.

Monsieur Lafont raised an eyebrow.

"For my daughter, not me," Maurice said quickly. "She's, uh, becoming a young woman."

"Oh, little Belle is growing up, huh?" said Monsieur Lafont, grinning.

"Don't tell her I told you that,"said Maurice, his face turning pink. "I embarrass her enough already. So do you have any?"

"I don't think we do," said the librarian. "The bookseller down the street might have something, though."

"Oh," said Maurice, frowning. "Well, thank you anyway."

Maurice turned and sidled towards the door.

"Oh, Monsieur Desrosiers, wait!" called Monsieur Lafont just before Maurice stepped out the door. Maurice turned around to face the librarian. "Belle is fifteen now, right?"

"Yes, her birthday was just a few days ago, actually," answered Maurice.

"She's turning into a lovely young woman. The image of her mother."

"She is a beautiful girl, isn't she?" Maurice agreed proudly.

"My assistant quit recently, and I've been having a bit of trouble keeping up with all the work I have to do," said Monsieur Lafont. "Perhaps Belle would like to come and work here for a few days a week? I cannot afford to pay her much, of course."

"That does sound like something Belle would enjoy. I will ask her," Maurice promised him.

He raced down the street to the bookseller where he found the book he needed almost immediately. He snatched it up quickly and approached the counter victoriously.

"That will be five livres," the bookseller told him.

Maurice dug a hand into his pocket, pulled out a handful of coins, and frowned. He had been saving up to buy a new set of tools. The ones he had now were rusty and ancient. But that could wait. Belle was more important. Maurice quickly rushed home and pushed the book into Belle's hands.

"Read this," he instructed.

Maurice washed Belle's nightgown and sheets and hung them out the window to dry. He retrieved a box of cloths and sponges that Sofia had used during her monthly bleedings from the bottom of her old wardrobe, placed it on Belle's bed, and rejoined his daughter in the living room.

"Do you understand everything now, Belle?" he asked.

"I think so," said Belle, closing the book. "So, to have a baby, a man and a woman have to-"

"Yes, Belle," Maurice said, quickly interrupting her. This was not a conversation he wanted to have with his daughter. "Whatever you read in that book is true. I'm sorry, little doe. I'm just not good with these things."

"I wish Mama was here to talk about this stuff with me," Belle murmured sadly.

"So do I, Belle," Maurice sighed, embracing his daughter into a warm, comforting hug. "So do I."

* * *

Acantha tossed one last pinch of nightshade into the pot, and the bubbling liquid concoction inside turned a magnificent shade of blue.

"Are you coming, Acantha?" asked Xanthia.

"You two go ahead," Acantha told her sister. "I'll be there in a minute."

"What are you making?" Xanthia asked.

"Nothing," Acantha said shortly. "Go away."

Acantha turned back to the stove top and poured the blue liquid into a small vial. She hid it in her cleavage, said good bye to her parents, and took off down the street towards the tavern.

She had come to realise that her parents were not quite human quite a while ago, but had kept the knowledge to herself. The three sisters had slowly drifted away from each other over the years as they developed their own interests and identities. Xanthia had discovered a talent for dressmaking. In addition to making all of her own clothing, the women of the village paid her a lot of money to make and design dresses for them. Phaedra had an adventurous streak and spent her time exploring the forests and hills around their village, and would often drag Xanthia along with her. Instead of accompanying them, Acantha would stay home and read the magic books that she managed to sneak out of the back room of her father's shop.

They did still have one common interest, however: Gaston. The three girls would spend hours following the hunter around and swooning over him. He was all they talked about when they were together. Their parents had reluctantly allowed them to start working as barmaids at the tavern when they turned seventeen. Last week, she had discovered the recipe for a love potion in one of the books she read and had decided to use it on Gaston. She had found the ingredients she needed in her mother's garden and had started making it that morning.

Acantha waited for her chance to slip the potion into Gaston's drink all night. It finally came when Gaston pointed to Xanthia and yelled, "Phaedra!"

"Xanthia," she corrected him.

"Right," muttered Gaston. "Bring me another stein of beer," he ordered.

Xanthia picked up Gaston's empty stein and started walking towards the counter.

"Don't worry, Xanthia. I'll do it!" said Acantha, snatching the stein out of Xanthia's hands.

"But-"

"I said I'll do it, Xanthia!" Acantha growled forcefully.

Acantha filled up the stein, quickly slipped the potion into it, and brought to Gaston. He drank the whole thing in less than ten seconds. Acantha grinned. The enchantment would take effect at midnight. Then Gaston would be hers for three whole hours.

"Come on, Acantha, we're going home," said Phaedra as the clock struck eleven.

"I'm going to help clean up," said Acantha.

"Mother won't like that," said Xanthia. "She said we have to be home by twelve or she's not going to let us work here anymore."

"I'm going to risk it," Acantha told them.

Xanthia and Phaedra left the building and the rest of the tavern-goers soon followed. Only Acantha, Michel, and Gaston were left.

"Can you two lock up?" asked Michel.

"Of course!" chirped Acantha happily. Good, she and Gaston were going to be alone together. Everything was going according to plan.

She gathered up all the empty beer steins and brought them over to a big tub full of hot, soapy wash. She grabbed a wash cloth and carefully washed each one, keeping one eye on the clock at all times. When the clock finally struck twelve, she put the cloth down and went looking for Gaston.

"Oh, Gaston," she called seductively, as she walked upstairs. "Where are y- Ahh!"

Acantha's jaw dropped. Gaston's skin had turned bright blue. She must have put too much nightshade into the potion.

"What's wrong?" he asked

"Nothing"

"Oh." Gaston pushed past her and started walking down the hallway towards his room.

"Where are you going?" asked Acantha

"I'm going to bed."

"Wait, Gaston!" Acantha shrieked. If he went into his bedroom he would undoubtedly see his reflection in the mirror. She grabbed his hand and pulled him downstairs into the tavern. She looked desperately around the room for a way to distract him. She spotted the stack of beer barrels in the corner of the room. "I bet you couldn't drink that entire barrel of beer over there on your own."

Gaston grinned at her.

"Just watch," he boomed, sneering at her.

Acantha smiled, sat back, and poured some beer into a stein for herself.

The next morning, Gaston awoke to find himself lying naked in his bed, with Acantha, also naked, lying next to him.

"Last night was amazing," she told him, sighing happily.

Gaston merely grunted and lifted his enormous, muscular body out of the bed. He strode over to one of the many mirrors in the room and began to admire his own reflection. Acantha relaxed and snuggled against the sheets, a content smile spreading across her face. Her sisters were going to be so jealous.

* * *

The incessant pounding on his bedroom door woke Dimitri from his deep slumber. He forced himself out of bed and tore open the door to find two tall, intimidating guards on the other side.

"What?" he demanded.

"Monsieur D'Arque, the new girl is making trouble," one of the guards told him.

Dimitri grinned and grabbed one of the whips that were hanging on his bedroom wall. He pulled on a coat and started to make his way down the long corridor of cells. The withered, old faces of his prisoners stared pleadingly at him from behind the bars. He forced open the door of the last cell, and stepped inside. Its occupant, a pale, thin girl who was dressed in rags and couldn't be over the age of twenty, shrunk back, a look of terror on her face.

"I hear you've been causing problems," Dimitri said, sneering down at her.

"I-I'm just hungry," she stammered.

"You've already eaten dinner. Do you want more, you greedy little girl?"

"I'm sorry," she sobbed.

Dimitri raised his whip and prepared to strike her. The girl looked up at him, her face stricken with fear, and, for the first time, he noticed her big chocolate brown eyes, which were just like those of his beloved Bernadette. He lowered his hand and regarded her with pity. Without saying another word, he left the cell and made his way back to his room.

It had been almost ten years since he had left the castle. He had spent three weeks looking for Josette, but, due to a lack of funds, had been forced to take the only job he could find: a guard in a mental asylum. The head of the asylum had died a few months after he arrived and, as he had been the only employee at the time, Dimitri had been put in charge. Slowly, he learned to enjoy locking up and torturing people, even if he did not necessarily believe that they were truly mentally unstable. It was the only way he could cope with working in such a dreary, depressing place. Torture was the only thing that kept him from thinking about the fact that he would likely never see his daughters again.

_I'm sorry if it takes me a little bit longer to update these days. I'm very busy right now._

_I wanted to update my Gaston story this weekend, but I'm flat out busy at the moment, so those of you who are following it will have to wait a few days._


	26. Violet

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

_December 10__th__, 1759_

Belle had developed a number of infatuations with the idealised heroes of her books over the years, though she had never felt attracted to any real life members of the opposite sex before. It all went back to the nasty little prince she had met when she was five years old. It wasn't just him, though. The boys in her neighbourhood had constantly teased her and called her names all throughout her childhood.

However, as she was shelving books in the library late that afternoon, she looked up to see the most handsome man in the world staring at her. He looked exactly like the man she had always pictured whenever a handsome knight or a dashing prince turned up in her books. A mop of brown curls that perfectly contrasted his golden sun-kissed skin sat upon head. His sparkling violet eyes pierced through her like a knife. He was wearing a tight-fitting, expensive lime green suit that showed off his impressive, muscular well-built figure. His clothing made him stick out like a sore thumb in Belle's lower class neighbourhood.

Belle smiled back at him. He blushed and looked away and she went back to shelving books. Five minutes later, she looked back up and saw him staring at her again. He quickly looked away again. This went on for quite some time.

"Okay, I have been watching you two all afternoon. This is getting ridiculous," said Monsieur Lafont finally. He took Belle's hand and led her over to the man. "This is Belle. And Belle, this is- I'm sorry, what is your name?"

"Alain," said the man, kissing the back of Belle's hand. "Alain Lebeau. _Enchanté_, Belle. And I must say your name fits you like a glove."

Belle opened her mouth to respond, but words failed her. A tiny, strange, nervous laugh from the back of her throat escaped instead. She blushed furiously.

"Are you alright?" asked Alain, staring at her curiously.

"I-I'm fine," Belle croaked. "You've been here a while. Are you looking for something in particular?"

"I've been looking for a book on female anatomy," said Alain. "I've been to ten bookshops already, and I haven't been able to find a single one."

"What exactly are you planning to do with it?" asked Belle, raising an eyebrow.

"I am studying medicine at _l'Université de Paris_," Alain said quickly, a slight blush creeping across his cheeks.

"I've got one," Belle told him. "You can borrow it if you like. My father bought it for me when- Well, that's not important. I can go home and get it."

"Oh no, I don't want to cause any trouble," said Alain quickly. "I don't need it that badly."

"Oh, it's no trouble," said Belle, smiling. "It's almost closing time anyway. I'll ask Monsieur Lafont if I can go home early."

Monsieur Lafont granted Belle permission to leave early, and she and Alain set off on their way.

"I wish I could go to university, but they don't let girls in. Besides, my father would never be able to afford it," said Belle, sighing. "Why did you choose to study medicine?"

"I have seven older brothers," Alain told her. "They are all royal musketeers. My father was one too, before he was injured in battle. Everyone was expecting me to follow in their footsteps, but I knew I could never live up to them, so I decided to go to school and become a doctor instead."

"Seven brothers?" repeated Belle, amazed. "I wish I had a sibling. My parents couldn't have any more children after I was born. It was a miracle they even had me."

As they passed the orphanage, Belle saw her old friend Monique playing with a group of young children. A small boy who couldn't have been any older than six was balancing himself on top of the stone wall that surrounded the old, dilapidated building. As Belle raised her hand to wave to her old friend, the boy lost his balance and fell to the ground with a thud. Alain rushed over, took the boy into his arms, and carried him into the building, with Belle, Monique, and the rest of the children following close behind. He set the child down on a table and rolled up the boy's old, ragged trousers, and inspected his wounds.

"Bring me some warm water," he instructed Monique.

Monique hastily rushed out of the room. Alain turned to Belle.

"Hand me your apron," he ordered.

Belle quickly removed her apron and gave it to Alain, who used it to mop up the blood from the boy's wounds. Monique reappeared, carrying a bucket of warm water. She set it down before Alain and retreated to the back of the room with the rest of the children. Alain dipped the apron into the water and handed it to Belle.

"Wash his wound with this," he told her. "I'll be back in a minute."

Alain rushed out of the building, leaving Belle alone with Monique and the children. Belle pressed the wet apron to the boy's wounds. The little boy screamed in pain, and his eyes began to well up with tears.

"Don't cry," Belle said soothingly, stroking the boy's hair the way her mother used to. "Be brave. What's your name?"

"Jason," the boy murmured tearfully.

"What a lovely name," said Belle, smiling kindly. "There is an old Greek myth about a hero named Jason. He was a very brave man who led a group of courageous heroes called the Argonauts."

"Really?" asked Jason, staring up at Belle, his eyes wide.

"Yes. You want to be a brave man like him, don't you?" asked Belle.

"Uh-huh!" said Jason, wiping away his tears with his sleeve. "Please tell me more about Jason, mademoiselle."

Belle sat down and pulled Jason onto her lap. The children formed a circle around her as she started to recite the full story from memory. Jason and the Argonauts had just set off on their journey when Alain returned, carrying a full basket of bread with him. He handed a roll of bread to Monique and then to each of the children.

"The baker was just about to close up shop so I got all this for a third of its normal price," Alain explained.

"I'm sorry about your apron, Belle," Monique said meekly.

"I don't care," said Belle, smiling. "You can keep it, if you want to. I've got another one at home."

It was starting to get dark by this point so Alain and Belle waved good bye to the children and set off on their way.

"You are amazing," Belle told him as they reached her house.

"I want to help people," said Alain, shrugging. "That's why I chose to become a doctor."

"Papa, are you home?" Belle called as they stepped inside. There was no answer. "He's probably still working," she said.

"Your father won't be home any time soon, will he?" asked Alain worriedly. "A man once caught my brother Alderic in his daughter's bedroom and it did not end well." He shuddered.

"Papa?" Belle said, stifling a laugh. "He's a soft, cuddly ball of warmth. He wouldn't hurt a fly. Come on, I think the book's in my room."

Belle took his hand, which felt as soft and smooth as a rose petal, and led him up to her bedroom. She immediately began to regret this decision as soon as they stepped through the door. Books and clothes were strewn all over the floor. Her blanket had fallen off her bed, and her pillow had somehow found its way to the other side of the room. Belle quickly retrieved the book from her bookcase and pushed it into Alain's hands.

"I am sorry about the mess," said Belle, her face turning red.

"I don't mind. You should see my room at the boarding house," said Alain, grinning. He inspected her bookcase and frowned. "You have a lot of fantasy books."

"Oh yes, they're my favourite! Each book is like a door that leads me into a world of knights, princesses, and dragons," said Belle, sighing happily. "Do you like them?"

"I don't have time to read escapist fiction," said Alain. "Books like these pose very little intellectual stimulation and rot your brain."

"I read other books too," said Belle defensively. "I also like reading about history, and about other countries, and about famous people like Leonardo da Vinci and Aristotle and-"

"But how is that going to help our society, Belle?" asked Alain. "Being interested in history is all well and good, but society is never going to move forward if we keep living in the past."

"I-I guess you're right," said Belle, feeling incredibly foolish.

"I have to go now," said Alain. "Thank you for the book. I might come to the library tomorrow. I saw a couple of books that I am interested in borrowing. Will you be there?"

"Of course!" exclaimed Belle.

"I will see you then," said Alain, kissing her hand again. "Farewell."

* * *

Alain did indeed come back to the library the next day. He returned the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that. Belle quickly became smitten with him. She put aside her old fairy tales and fantasy books and had started to read books about biology and technology, though she had a lot of trouble understanding them some of the time. Science and mathematics had never been her strong suit. Alain would usually walk her home after she finished working, and would talk non-stop about what he had recently learned in his classes. Though she tried as hard as she could to pay attention, her mind often wandered during these lectures. She had long, drawn out daydreams about her and Alain going on an exciting adventure together as he discussed gruesome surgeries.

"Belle, I'm back!" Maurice called when he arrived home one night, two weeks after Belle had first met Alain. "I brought dinner."

He set a stale loaf of bread and a block of cheese down on the kitchen table and walked back into the living room where Belle was lying on the settee, reading.

"What are you reading?" Maurice asked.

"_On the Fabric of the Human Body,"_ said Belle, showing him a rather gruesome illustration of a human body being dissected. "Alain lent it to me."

"Who is Alain?" asked Maurice, raising an eyebrow.

"The most handsome, intelligent, kind, wonderful man in the whole world," Belle gushed happily.

"Oh, my baby Belle has a little gentleman friend," said Maurice, chuckling. "How old is he?"

"He just turned twenty-one last month," said Belle dreamily.

"Twenty-one!" Maurice repeated, alarmed.

"What's wrong, Papa?" asked Belle, looking up at her father.

"You're only sixteen!" exclaimed Maurice. "He is far too old for you, Belle."

"He's only five years older than me. Mama was four years younger than you," Belle pointed out.

"That's different," said Maurice. "We were twenty-seven and twenty-three when we got married. You're still growing."

"And when I am twenty-one, he will be twenty-six," said Belle. "Besides, we aren't getting married, Papa. Well, not anytime soon. He is coming over tomorrow evening. You can meet him then."

"But I wanted to spend the evening alone with you," said Maurice, frowning. "Never mind, I can spend some time with you tonight. After we have dinner, we can sit by the fire and read a book together. We never did finish _The History of Tom Jones_."

"Oh no, Papa. I'd much rather read this book," said Belle. "Books like _Tom Jones_ rot your brain. We're never going to move forward as a society if we keep living in the past, or in silly escapist fantasy worlds."

Maurice could only stare at his daughter. He was completely dumbstruck. What had this boy done to his daughter?

The next evening, Maurice heard a knock at the door and opened it to find a very handsome young man with the most intoxicating violet eyes he had ever seen grinning back at him.

"Good evening, Monsieur Desrosiers," said Alain, sticking out his hand as he flashed Maurice his most charming smile. "Belle has told me so much about you."

As Belle went back into the kitchen to check on the stew she had been making, Maurice took Alain down into his workshop to show him the blueprints he had drawn up for various inventions he had wanted to make, but never had the energy to do so. Alain gave him some helpful suggestions which sparked his imagination, before they went upstairs to join Belle for dinner. After dinner and some light conversation, Belle escorted Alain to the door.

"Well, good bye, Belle," Alain said as stood on the doorstep together. He hesitated for a brief moment before he leaned down and planted a big kiss on Belle's lips.

Belle frowned. She'd always imagined her first kiss would be far more passionate than that. She hadn't felt anything at all.

"What's wrong, Belle?" asked Alain, his voice tinged with concern.

"Oh, nothing," said Belle quickly. "You should probably get going now. Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Of course," said Alain. "Farewell, Belle."

Belle watched as Alain disappeared into the darkness before she turned around went back into the house. Maurice was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for her.

"Well, Papa, what do you think of Alain?" she asked.

"He is quite a handsome young man," Maurice admitted. "He is also charming, intelligent, and exceedingly polite, but-"

"I knew you'd like him," Belle exclaimed happily. She kissed her father on the head and skipped up the stairs to her room.

Maurice went back into the kitchen and started to wash up. It was best not to worry about it, he decided. He'd had his fair share of infatuations when he had been Belle's age, but he had usually forgotten them after a month or so. Alain was, without a doubt, a fine, upstanding young boy, but Maurice didn't believe that he was the right man for his daughter. Hopefully, in time, Belle would come to realise this on her own.

* * *

_Only a short fluff chapter this time unfortunately. I'm so sorry! I'm really busy at the moment so I don't have much time to write._

_For those of you following my Gaston story: I'M SO SORRY I HAVEN'T UPDATED IT! I'm just having a bit of trouble with the chapter I'm working on. I haven't given up on it, I promise. I would never give up on any of my stories._


	27. Flame

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

_February 19__th__, 1759_

Ariana chose a book from the shelf and settled down on the big, comfortable armchair by the dying fire to read it. She had never been much of a reader herself, but she was alone and she had nothing else to do. The girls were at work and were not due to be home until after midnight. Theseus had gone to bed early, which he had been doing a lot lately. Old age was beginning to catch up to him. She had just opened the book and had started to read the first page when she heard a knock at the door. She set the book aside, stood up, walked to the door, and opened it to find Renaud waiting on the doorstep.

"Madame Devin?"

"Ah, Renaud, how are Josette and the little one doing?" asked Ariana, smiling warmly at him.

"This not a social call, I'm afraid," said Renaud, frowning.

"I had a feeling you were going to visit me today," said Ariana. "Come in."

Ariana led Renaud into the living room and sat him down in a chair opposite the one she had just vacated.

"Can I get you something?" she asked. "Wine? Tea?"

"No thank you. I can't stay long. I've got a sick wife and child at home."

"Poor things. Nothing too serious, I hope," said Ariana sympathetically.

"They've both got the flu, but they seem to be coping with it well."

"Just make sure they stay warm," said Ariana, sitting down opposite him. "Now, what brings you here?"

"It's my son's twentieth birthday today. He's only got one more year to break the spell. How much progress has he made?"

"Not much, I'm afraid," answered Ariana. "No one has gone anywhere near his castle for nine years. I'm beginning to think I made a big mistake."

"You said you'd make sure he'd break the curse!" yelled Renaud.

"You're right," admitted Ariana. "And I will. I'll get started on it right away, I promise."

Ariana escorted Renaud to the door, blew out every candle in the house, and walked upstairs to join her husband in bed.

It really was unfair of her to put that specific curse on the prince. He lived in the middle of a forest. Very few people were likely to come across his castle. She would have to send a girl there to help him break the curse. But who? Sending one of her daughters was out of the question. Romantic relationships between mortals and magic folk never worked out. Besides, she doubted any of them could pull it off. She loved her girls more than anything, but they could be awfully shallow at times. The girl she sent would have to be pure hearted and modest.

Her mind quickly flashed back to that cold January night when she had met Maurice in the forest and promised to give him a baby. Ariana had always been very proud of the resulting child. She had taken the best physical traits of Maurice and his wife and mixed them together to create a beautiful baby girl. Ariana had not spent much time with either Maurice or his wife, but from what she knew of them, she was certain that they had raised her into a polite, humble, pure hearted young lady. She would be perfect for the Beast.

But was it really right to send an innocent girl to live with a terrifying, tempestuous monster? It would all be worth it in the end, Ariana decided. If Belle succeeded, she would marry the prince and live out the rest of her days in luxury with a man she truly loved. If she didn't succeed… well, Ariana would deal with that if and when it happened.

After breakfast the next morning, Ariana went to visit Michel in his cottage.

"Good morning, Michel," she said, greeting him with a friendly smile

"Madame Devin, what a pleasant surprise. Come in." Michel led Ariana into his living room and gestured for her to sit down at the table by the fireplace. "How is your husband?"

"He's fine," answered Ariana. "He's been very tired lately, but fine for the most part. I hope my girls haven't been causing you too much trouble at the tavern."

"Oh no, your daughters are wonderful people to have around," Michel told her. "Acantha is smart as a whip, Phaedra is dynamic and sociable, and Xanthia is as sweet and helpful as anybody could possibly be. They've turned into such beautiful young women. You've raised them well."

"Why, thank you, Michel," said Ariana, beaming with pride.

"They do have a tendency to forget about their work and focus all their attentions on Gaston, however."

"My girls are obsessed with that boy," said Ariana, shaking her head.

"I wouldn't mind so much, but it's obvious he has no interest in them whatsoever," said Michel. "I asked him why and he said that he didn't think they were good enough for him. I don't understand it myself. I think your daughters are absolutely beautiful."

Ariana frowned. The sooner she could get her girls to forget about Gaston and begin their studies, the better.

"Anyway, what can I do for you?" asked Michel.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about you lately, Michel."

"Madame Devin, I am flattered, but-"

"Oh no, not in that way," said Ariana, giggling. "I keep thinking about all the conversations we've had over the years. I remember you told me once about how you've always wanted to go out and see the world.

"It's always been a dream of mine," sighed Michel. "Unfortunately I don't see it happening anytime soon. I'm just so busy. If I did go, I'd have to sell the tavern, or at least find someone to take over from me."

"That young man has been working with you for quite a while. Perhaps he could take over while you're away," suggested Ariana.

"I guess that is an option," said Michel thoughtfully.

"You could stop by Paris and visit your brother and your niece on your way to see the world. If they wanted to, they could come and live here while you travel."

"I don't know if my brother would want to do that," said Michel, frowning. "He never did like this village, but I haven't seen him in nearly fifteen years. Perhaps his opinion has changed since then. It would be nice to see my niece again, too. She was just a baby the last time I saw her."

"Well, take some time to think it over," said Ariana. "It would be nice to see you happy. I've always felt so sorry for you. You must be lonely here all by yourself."

"I like being on my own," insisted Michel. "But thank you for the suggestions, Madame Devin. I will think about it."

* * *

Lumiere hopped down the hallway, deep in thought. If he were still human he would have been lying in bed with a beautiful woman resting her head on his chest. He couldn't sleep in a bed anymore. His flames would likely ignite the sheets and set the castle on fire. The sound of soft, muffled tears interrupted his thoughts. He peeked inside a nearby room where he saw a familiar feather duster leaning against the leg of an armchair, obviously crying.

"Babette? What's wrong?" asked Lumiere, hopping towards her.

"It's been nine years, Lumiere. Nine!" Babette sobbed. "The master is never going to break the curse."

"We've still got twelve months left. Who knows what could happen in the next year."

"We have to face it," said Babette sadly. "The master is never going to find love. Even if he didn't look the way that he does, no woman in her right mind would fall for someone so nasty. To top it all off, the curse hasn't changed him one bit! He is still just as hostile and mean-spirited as ever. We are going to be like this forever and there's nothing we can do about it."

"There's no need to cry," whispered Lumiere soothingly. "We should make the best of a bad situation."

"It's not just that," said Babette. "I miss my sister more than anything. She was like a mother to me. I never knew my real one. I want to see her again. And my father. And I want my limbs back. At least you have arms."

"I know how you feel," said Lumiere, stroking the back of her handle comfortingly. "I miss my sisters as well. I haven't seen any of them in two decades. I always meant to go and visit them, but I never got around to it. If I had known that this was going to happen to us, I would have made an effort to visit them every year. I might never get to see them again."

Lumiere wiped the tears away from her face with one of his candles. Babette smiled at him.

"Thank you for comforting me, Lumiere. You really are a sweet man."

Babette leaned in to kiss Lumiere on the cheek, but her lips narrowly missed their target and landed on Lumiere's mouth. To her surprise, Lumiere did not pull away, but instead pulled her closer.

Lumiere and Babette were inseparable over the next week. They spent their days avoiding Cogsworth and alternating between making love to each other(which was exceedingly difficult in their current bodies, but they managed to make it work), making fun of Cogsworth, and having deep conversations about various topics including, but not limited to: their families, their childhood, the outside world, and what their lives would be like if they had not been cursed. Babette had been dreaming of this for seventeen years and she couldn't be happier. The only way it would have been better was if they were both human, and Josette was around to give her advice. Meanwhile, Lumiere was surprised at just how much he was connecting to Babette. He'd had many, many, many relationships with women, but he had never really felt anything for them beyond mild friendship. Perhaps it was because he and Babette had already been close friends for many years.

"Lumiere, may I ask you something?" Babette asked as they were sitting by the fireplace in the first floor parlour late one night.

"Of course!" exclaimed Lumiere, draping his arm around her handle.

"Why were you never interested in me when we were human? It seemed like you were chasing after every other woman in the castle. Why not me?"

"It's not that I didn't think you were pretty," said Lumiere carefully. "You were one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen."

"Oh, Lumiere," whispered Babette, who would have been blushing if her face weren't made of wood.

"Cogsworth made Fifi start working somewhere else because we always got distracted when we were working together," Lumiere continued, not noticing the scowl on Babette's face. "I didn't want you to get stuck with a much worse job. Plus, we worked together and I didn't want our relationship to be ruined. And, well, after your sister and I were, uh, intimate, and she told me her story, I didn't think it would be right to woo you as well."

"My sister?" repeated Babette suddenly. "What happened between you and my sister?"

"A few days after I arrived here, your sister and I sat down with a bottle of wine and discussed our lives," explained Lumiere, who was already regretting mentioning Josette. "The next morning we woke up in bed together."

"So you got her drunk and took advantage of her?" asked Babette, shocked. "That's awful! How could you do something like that?"

"That's not true!" said Lumiere defensively. "I drank even more wine than she did. I would never have forced her to do something she didn't want to do."

"But she was still heartbroken over Renaud. She was in a fragile state."

"I didn't know anything about her relationship with the prince before we were intimate. She only told me about it the next morning," said Lumiere. "I treated her like every other woman I tried to woo. I would never take advantage of anyone. That just wouldn't be fair."

"Oh, so Josette was just another woman you wanted to add to your collection?" yelled Babette. "I can't believe I was stupid enough to let myself fall into your trap."

"That was seventeen years ago!" exclaimed Lumiere. "I was just a stupid kid then!"

"You were twenty-eight years old. You should have known better."

"I'm a late-bloomer," said Lumiere, shrugging. "But I've grown since then, Babette, I swear."

"I wish I could believe that."

If Babette still had her arms, she would have slapped him right across his face. Instead, she stormed out of the room as quickly as her feathers could carry her. Lumiere sighed and slunk down in defeat.

* * *

_Another short chapter, I am so sorry. Unfortunately, I am very busy now so I doubt I'll be able to get another update out by the end of the month, but we'll see. Lumiere and Babette's little spat will be resolved in the next chapter.*_


	28. Onyx

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

_May 1st, 1759_

Maurice pushed open the door, walked into the room, and immediately tripped over a large pile of clothes, pillows, and blankets. He groaned and picked himself up off the ground. Belle had an awful habit of throwing every single thing she owned onto the floor after she had finished using it. Maurice gathered up every item of clothing he could find and placed it neatly into a little basket sitting by the door, making a mental note to ask Belle to do the washing tomorrow. He sloppily remade her bed before he turned around to inspect the bookcase.

Belle hadn't touched any of her old books in months. She was committed to changing herself for Alain. The whole thing made Maurice sick to his stomach. It was obvious that Belle had no interest in science or any of the other things Alain wanted her to be interested in. Couples should be supportive of each other's interests, and neither partner should have to change in order to please the other one. He and Sofia had completely different interests, yet they were both incredibly supportive of each other's hobbies. Sofia had even chosen to become the main breadwinner of the family so that Maurice could spend more time with his inventions. In turn, he had tried to do as much housework as possible so that she could rest when she was at home. He wanted more than anything to tell Belle this, but he was confident that his daughter was intelligent enough to eventually come to this conclusion on her own.

His eyes fell on an aged red book sitting in the middle of the bottom shelf. It was the same one that he had bought his mother for Christmas when he was fifteen. It was the first book he had ever read to Belle. He grasped it in his hand, walked downstairs, and was about to settle down on the settee when he heard a knock at the door. Maurice placed the book down and stared over at the door in confusion. Who on could be visiting him at this hour? Had Belle forgotten her key? Nothing could prepare him for the shock he got when he saw who was standing on the doorstep.

"Michel!" Maurice exclaimed, unable to hide the look of surprise on his face. "What are you doing here?"

"The last time we saw each other, you told me I could come and visit you anytime I wanted. Well, here I am," said Michel, grinning. "I like your moustache by the way."

"This is such a surprise," murmured Maurice. "I haven't seen you in fifteen years. Come in, come in! We've got a lot of catching up to do."

"I've been busy," said Michel sheepishly as he stepped inside. "I kept meaning to come and see you, Maurice, I really did. I just never found the time."

"I have no right to complain," Maurice replied. "I'm at fault as well. I could have made more of an effort to come and see you. Can I offer you a drink? All we have is milk, I'm afraid."

"Milk is fine," Michel answered as he followed Maurice into the kitchen. "It's okay; I don't blame you for not coming to visit. You're a father. You've got responsibilities."

"That makes it even worse! I didn't give Belle the chance to get to know her uncle," said Maurice, sighing regretfully. "Have you had dinner? Would you like some bread and cheese?"

"No, thank you. I had dinner at the inn," replied Michel, sitting down at the kitchen table. "How is little Belle?"

"She's not so little anymore," Maurice chuckled as he poured the contents of a bottle of goat's milk into a glass. "She is out with her _petit copain_ right now, but she will be back soon. She should have been home an hour ago, actually"

"Ah, she has a gentleman friend?" Michel asked, grinning.

"She certainly does," Maurice mumbled, a slight scowl crossing his face.

"You don't sound too happy about it," Michel observed.

"He's a nice, intelligent, well-mannered young man, but he's just not the right man for my Belle."

"I take it you're not in a hurry to become a grandfather."

"I would like Belle to get married and give me a few grandchildren someday, but not anytime soon. She's still a child herself," said Maurice. "And when and if she does get married, I want it to be to someone who loves and respects her for who she is. I want her to be as lucky as I was."

"I'm afraid to ask about your wife," said Michel quietly.

Maurice bit his lip and looked down at his feet, unsure of how to break the news to Michel.

"Sofia passed away eight years ago," he answered solemnly.

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Michel quietly.

"I miss her so much," said Maurice. "I am glad she's not suffering anymore, though. She was sick for so long."

"I wish I could have gotten to know your wife better," Michel told his brother. "She seemed like such a lovely woman."

"She really was amazing," said Maurice, sighing. "I don't go more than a few minutes without thinking about her. She wanted to move out to the countryside, actually. I really regret not doing it now."

"Actually that's what I wanted to talk to you abou-"

The sound of the front door slamming shut interrupted Michel mid-sentence.

"Ah, here she is. Excuse me."

Maurice shuffled out of the kitchen and into the living room where he found Belle climbing the stairs.

"Hi, Papa!" called Belle happily.

"Where have you been?" Maurice demanded. "You were supposed to be home at nine."

"I'm so sorry, Papa!" Belle said. "Alain took me out to dinner, and we came across this poor lost little girl as he was walking me home. We couldn't just leave her out there, so we helped her find her father."

"Well, as long you're safe," said Maurice, frowning.

"Alain would never let anything bad happen to me, Papa," insisted Belle. "You worry too much."

She turned around and continued to climb the stairs.

"Wait, Belle! Come in to the kitchen," ordered Maurice. "There's someone I want you to meet."

Belle skipped back down the stairs and followed her father into the kitchen. Michel stood up and rushed over to greet Belle as soon as she walked into the room. Belle could only stare him.

"You're certainly a lot taller than you were the last time I saw you," Michel said, chuckling.

"This is your Uncle Michel," Maurice told his daughter.

"Uncle?" Belle repeated, confused. "Oh, you're Papa's twin brother!"

"My, you've grown into such a lovely young woman," Michel told her, smiling. "The last time I saw you, you barely came up to my knees."

"Thank you, sir- I mean, Uncle Michel!" Belle replied, her face turning bright pink.

"Your father tells me you've been courting a young man," said Michel.

"Oh yes, he is just wonderful," gushed Belle happily. "He's handsome and charming and intelligent and kind. I didn't realise it was possible for one man to be so perfect before I met him."

"He sounds wonderful. You're very lucky," Michel told her. "Anyway, it's late. I should probably get back to the inn and let you two get some sleep."

"I won't hear of it. You may stay here tonight," insisted Maurice. "You can have my bed. I'll sleep down here on the settee."

"No, Papa, I'm the youngest so I should sleep down here," said Belle. "Uncle Michel can sleep in my bed."

"I don't want to force either of you out of your beds," said Michel, chuckling. "I'm staying at the inn."

"How long will you be in town?" asked Maurice.

"I'll just be here tomorrow," answered Michel. "I'm leaving the next morning."

"I'd love to show you around the city, but I have to work tomorrow," said Maurice apologetically.

"I'm working tomorrow as well," said Belle, frowning.

"What about tomorrow evening?" asked Michel hopefully.

"That would be fine," answered Maurice. "We'll have dinner together. Unfortunately, Belle and I aren't exactly master chefs. We just have bread and cheese most nights."

"I'll cook for you!" offered Michel.

"You can't do that," exclaimed Maurice. "You're our guest!"

"I really don't mind," said Michel. "I quite like cooking actually. It's relaxing, in a way."

"If you're sure," said Maurice raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, Papa, I'm sorry," said Belle. "I just remembered! Monsieur Lafont has asked me to work late tomorrow night. I won't be finished until eight."

"We'll just have to have a late dinner then," said Maurice. "I don't like the idea of you walking home alone in the dark by yourself, though."

"Papa, I'll be fine," Belle laughed, patting her father on the head. "You worry too much."

* * *

Belle glanced over at the clock and frowned. It was only half past seven. She wouldn't be able to leave for another thirty minutes.

"Anxious to leave, Belle?" asked Monsieur Lafont, a sly grin crossing his wisened face. "You've been staring at the clock all evening. I suppose you're meeting up with your new gentleman friend tonight."

"Actually, Papa and I are having dinner with my uncle," Belle corrected him. "He's only in town for tonight."

"Well, I certainly don't want to keep you from any important family business," said Monsieur Lafont, smiling. "You run along. Oh wait, I haven't paid you yet!"

The old librarian disappeared into the backroom and emerged two minutes holding a handful of coins out to Belle. She immediately deposited them into a small linen bag, slung it over her shoulder, gratefully kissed the old man on the cheek, and exited the library. She was about to start walking down the street when a thought crossed her mind. There was a long, narrow alleyway next to the library. It led right to the bottom of her street. She would get home much faster if she took that route. Her father had repeatedly warned her not to go down the alleyway, even during daylight. He had told her that it was infested with thieves, pickpockets, and other low-lives, but surely going down it just this once wouldn't hurt. She wanted to get home in time for dinner. Besides, it was still quite early, and what Papa didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

After a few brief moments of hesitation, Belle started to plod down the long alleyway. Fortunately, it seemed to be empty for the most part, though it was hard to tell as the only light was coming from the windows of the buildings the lined the narrow alleyway. As she rounded a sharp corner, she heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming up behind her.

"Mademoiselle!" a voice called out.

Belle turned around to see a tall, muscular man stumbling towards her. He had long, untidy hair and was wearing a purple suit that looked as if it must have been expensive when he first bought it.

"Yes?"

"Will five livres be enough?" he slurred.

"What?" Belle stared at him, feeling utterly confused.

The man forced a pile of coins into Belle's hands. It suddenly hit her. This man had mistaken her for a homeless wastrel. She didn't blame him. Her dress was old, ragged, and ill-fitting, and she was rather thin.

"You are very kind, but-" Belle began.

"You're rather young and pretty for a harlot," the man whispered, stroking Belle's face. "I've never seen you around before. You must be new. Perfect, I like fresh girls."

It suddenly dawned on Belle. There was a brothel at the end of the alleyway. This man obviously believed that she worked there.

"I think you're mistaken. I-I'm not what you think I am," Belle stammered, pushing the coins back into his hands.

"Then why were you walking around here at this time of night without an escort?" he sneered. "A proper girl wouldn't do something like that. Come on, we both know you're just holding out so that I will give you more money. I'm familiar with the practices of you strumpets."

"I don't want your money!" cried Belle, pushing him away. "Please leave me alone. My father's waiting for me."

"Very well, I'll double the price," said the man, pulling out more coins from his pocket. "Here, ten livres. That's my final offer. It's far more than what you are really worth. There are plenty of other girls around here, you know."

"Go bother one of them, then."

Belle turned on her heel and started to stride towards the end of the alleyway. She had almost reached the end when she felt a hand grab her by the arm. The man slammed her back to the wall and covered her mouth with his hand so that she couldn't scream for help. Belle felt her heart beat faster than it ever had before. The man leaned in so that his face was mere inches away from Belle's. She could smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Filthy, conniving whore," he hissed. "Don't struggle and you won't get hurt."

Belle glanced down and noticed that his legs were spread wide open. An idea suddenly struck her like a lightning bolt. Alain had recently lent her one of his medical books. It had described, in great detail, the functions and purposes of male genitalia. She had learned, amongst other things, that the area between a man's legs was extremely sensitive to pain.

Just as the man reached down and tore off a piece of Belle's skirt, she raised her leg and struck him in the crotch with her knee. The man fell to the ground, clutching the injured area with his hands. For good measure, Belle quickly kicked him in middle of his stomach, taking an unhealthy amount of pleasure in the look of pain she saw on the man's face. She hastily took off down the alleyway, running as fast as her long, slender legs could carry her, leaving the man writhing in pain.

* * *

That afternoon, Maurice had come home to find Michel waiting by his door with a big basket of food in his hands. Together, they made dinner as Maurice entertained his brother with light anecdotes about Belle's childhood and, in turn, Michel regaled Maurice with stories about the lives of the people they grown up with in the village.

"So what did you want to talk to me about last night?" Maurice asked, as they were filling three large bowls with pea and potato soup.

"I've decided to spend the next year or so traveling around Europe," Michel told him

"That sounds exciting," said Maurice. "Belle will be so jealous."

"You are free to use the house as you please while I am away," offered Michel. "You said that your wife wanted to move away to the countryside, didn't you?"

"Thank you, but Belle and I like living in the city. It's not an ideal place to raise a child, but we're happy here," said Maurice. "Belle's almost grown now anyway."

"Very well. Just remember, the offer's there, just remember that," said Michel. "I have left my animals in the care of one of my neighbours, but you may take charge of them yourselves if you do choose to live there."

Maurice was about to turn him down again when the door flew open and Belle came barrelling in. Her face was red and streaked with tears. She fell into Maurice's arms and began to sob into his shoulder.

"What's wrong, little doe?" Maurice asked, alarmed. He reached up and soothingly stroked Belle's hair.

"I was attacked!" she cried.

"What? Are you hurt?" Maurice asked, his eyes widening.

"N-no, I am fine," stammered Belle. "It's just- The man tried to violate me, Papa!"

"You mean a man forced himself on you?" growled Maurice. He was, for the most part, a very good-natured, jovial man. He did not get angry or upset much. However, this news had caused a bundle of anger to start growing in his chest.

Belle nodded and wiped the tears from her eyes.

"I managed to get away just in time, though."

"Don't worry, you're safe now," whispered Maurice. "You go up to your room and get changed. Michel has just made us the most wonderful dinner."

Michel spent dinner trying to keep Belle's mind off her ordeal by cracking jokes and telling her stories about Maurice's childhood. Meanwhile, Maurice barely spoke. He was deep in thought. This incident had opened his eyes. Perhaps getting Belle away from the city would be good for her. He had promised Sofia that he would make sure nothing bad happened to her. In addition to keeping her safe, moving her to the village would keep her away from Alain and give her time to think about her relationship with him. He hated being an overprotective father, but he felt that it was necessary. He was terrified of losing his daughter. He would never forgive himself if he let something bad happen to her.

After dinner, the three of them sat down by the fireplace. Belle told Michel all about Alain as Maurice quietly watched the dying fire. At eleven o'clock, Belle hugged Michel, kissed her father on the forehead, and went up to bed. After Maurice was sure that Belle was safely in her room, he turned to address his brother.

"Michel, I might have to take you up on that offer."

* * *

_I know I said that Lumiere and Babette's little spat would be resolved in this chapter, but I'm still fine-tuning that part so you'll have to wait(It will be worth it, I promise!)._

_A lot of you have asked me how on earth Lumiere and Babette could possibly have sex in their current bodies. I imagine it would involve Babette's feathers and one of Lumiere's candles._

_I hate to bother everyone again, but since I'm coming to the end of this part of the story, I thought I'd ask my readers to take another survey. I really want to improve this story and to do that, I need feedback. Don't worry! This will not be a common thing. If I do ask you to take another survey, it won't be for couple of years or so. I'm not expecting you to fill this out, but it would help me if you did._

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	29. Bittersweet

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

_May 3rd, 1759_

"What on earth did you do to Babette?" demanded Cogsworth.

Lumiere, who had been slumped over the kitchen wall, looked up at the castle's majordomo.

"Nothing!" he insisted.

"I asked her where you were and she spouted off some words that I am not comfortable repeating," said Cogsworth, his dial turning red at the memory.

"Not long after I came to the castle, Josette and I were intimate together," Lumiere explained. "I told Babette this a few weeks ago and she got angry. I have no idea why. It happened seventeen years ago. I barely even knew Babette back then."

"Lumiere, exactly how many women have you been intimate with?" asked Cogsworth.

"I don't know," he admitted.

"You don't know?" Cogsworth echoed incredulously.

"It's not like I keep track," Lumiere replied, shrugging. "If I had to guess, I'd say somewhere around one hundred."

"One hundred!" exclaimed Cogsworth in disbelief. "I think that might be the reason Babette is so reluctant to continue her relationship with you."

"Yes, I definitely got that feeling," said Lumiere. "But I don't want any other woman. I just want her. I've spent the last two months trying to convince her of this, but nothing has worked. I can understand why she doesn't trust me, though."

"You need to do something that will prove that you don't just see her as another romantic conquest," said Cogsworth. "Perhaps you could give her a present. Not one that you would give any old girl, though. Something that holds a lot of sentimental value to you."

An idea suddenly came to Lumiere. He started hopping out of the room as fast as possible.

"Where are you going?" called Cogsworth.

"I've got an idea!"

Lumiere hopped all the way up to his old bedroom. He hadn't been inside for nine years and every single inch of it was now covered in a thick layer of dust. The servants had neglected to clean the area of the castle that had been their home before the curse. The memories were far too painful. He carefully opened the bottom drawer of his wardrobe and pulled out a small black box. He tucked the box under one of his arms and started hopping around the castle looking for Babette. He had been searching for well over three hours when Mrs Potts happened upon him.

"Lumiere? What's wrong? From what I've heard, you've been hopping around in circles all night."

"I've been looking for Babette," explained Lumiere. "Have you seen her?"

"She's in the kitchen," said Mrs Potts. "I'm afraid she doesn't want to speak to you, though."

Lumiere quickly hopped into the kitchen, where found Babette dusting one of the cupboards.

"Babette?"

Babette ignored him.

"Babette, I've got something I want to give you."

"And how exactly am I going to open that?" asked Babette, glancing down him. "I have no arms, remember."

Lumiere slowly opened the box, taking great care not to set anything on fire. Inside was a silver braided wire ring that looked as though it were hundreds of years old.

"Forget it, Lumiere," said Babette, turning away from him. "You can't buy me back with presents."

"You don't understand. This ring has been in my family for almost two hundred years," explained Lumiere. "My great-great-great grandmother was the mistress of a count, who was much older than her. He was the one who gave her the ring. After he died, she married my great-great-great grandfather, and their son eventually gave the ring to his wife. Their son gave it to his wife and so on. Now, as my parents' only son, it's in my possession."

"And you're giving this to me?" asked Babette, her eyes widening. She hopped down from the cupboard to join Lumiere on the floor.

"Yes," confirmed Lumiere. "To prove that I don't just see you as another notch on my belt. I only want you, Babette. Unfortunately, I have an uncontrollable need to charm every beautiful woman I see. I just can't help myself. I'm a lost cause. I would never, ever be unfaithful to you, though."

"I suppose that I am not one to judge. I have a tendency to be rather coquettish myself," said Babette. She glanced down at the ring sadly. "It's a shame I'll never get to wear this, though."

"I wish you would be more optimistic, _cherie_," said Lumiere. "We've still got time left. You never know what could be around the corner."

Lumiere wrapped his arms around Babette's handle and began to cover her face with kisses. He slowly moved his hands down to feathers as his kisses got more and more passionate. Suddenly, Babette let out a loud piercing scream. Lumiere sheepishly pulled his hands away. Mrs Potts, who had been eavesdropping on their conversation in the next room, quickly came hopping in. She doused Babette with lukewarm tea, successfully putting out the fire.

"Heavens, Lumiere! It's been ten years. I'd have thought you'd have learned to control your flames by now," she admonished.

Lumiere buried his face in his hands. He hated being so careful all the time. He was a danger to everyone around him. He still held a tiny glimmer of hope that the Beast would somehow break the curse in time. That was what had been keeping him so optimistic throughout the years. He couldn't take much more of this, however. That tiny glimmer was becoming smaller and smaller as each day passed.

* * *

"Good morning, Papa!" Belle sang as she skipped into the kitchen. She sat down at the table, opposite her father, and dug her spoon into the bowl of porridge that was sitting before her.

"Belle, I've got something to tell you," Maurice began slowly, wondering how to phrase what he was about to tell her. "We're moving back to my old village."

Belle looked up from her porridge, alarmed.

"W-what?" she stammered. "Why? How could you make this decision without consulting me?"

"I just want to keep you safe, Belle," Maurice told her.

"I am safe!" countered Belle.

"How can you say that after what happened last night?" demanded Maurice.

"Papa, I've lived here my entire life and this is the first time I've ever been in danger," said Belle.

"That's not exactly true," said Maurice. "Someone kidnapped you when you were a week old. No wonder your mother wanted to move to the countryside."

"I'm sixteen now, Papa. I can look after myself," Belle insisted.

"I'm your father. I promised your mother that I would protect you. You're all I've got left, Belle. I don't know what I'd do if I lost you. Please think this over, little doe. We won't go if you really don't want to. It will only be for a year or so. If the lifestyle suits us then we'll look at something a little more permanent," said Maurice. "Now finish your breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," murmured Belle.

She pushed her bowl of porridge away, stood up, ran out to the living room, and sunk into the settee. How could her father expect her to leave her childhood home? She couldn't leave the only life she had ever known. Paris was a city full of vibrant imagination and fascinating intellectuals. Belle belonged there. She thrived there. She didn't want to leave her home, and she didn't want to leave Alain for that matter.

On the other hand, perhaps there was an upside to moving away to the village. Everywhere she looked she saw something that reminded her of her mother. Papa's creativity had been in a rut ever since her mother had died. He was a completely different man to the one she had known as a child. Perhaps getting her father away from all the reminders of her mother would be good for him. Plus, he had to work all day in order to support them. If they lived outside of the city, they could keep farm animals, grow their own vegetables, and be, for the most part, self-sufficient. Papa would have time to work on his inventions and he wouldn't be distracted by the memories of her mother.

* * *

The next day, Belle went to the library to tell Monsieur Lafont that she was leaving town and that he would have to find someone else to fill her job. He patted her on the hand, told her that he would have a hard time finding a replacement for her, and allowed her to take any book she wanted as a parting gift. As she was leaving, she felt a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around her waist and a deep voice whisper her name into her ear.

"Oh, hi, Alain," Belle murmured dejectedly.

"What's wrong?" Alain asked.

"Papa and I are leaving town," Belle told him.

"What?" exclaimed Alain, alarmed. "Why?"

"He wants me to be safe and I want him to be happy," Belle answered.

"Where are you going?"

"Papa's old village," Belle answered sadly. "It's almost two hundred miles away."

"Two hundred miles isn't that far," said Alain, smiling. "Don't worry, Belle. I am not ready to graduate quite yet, but when I do, I promise I will come and find you."

"Really?"

"We will get married and move to a small town not too far away from here. I will do my best to help people in need of medical attention and you will assist me," Alain told Belle, lovingly stroking her hair. "When you're not looking after the children, of course," he added quickly.

"I don't know about that," said Belle, frowning. "I do want to marry you, of course, but I've always wanted to travel and I couldn't do that if I had children to look after."

"Oh, Belle," said Alain, chuckling. "You're far too old to still be having these silly dreams. Who would look after your father? He's too old and feeble to travel with you. I think you will find that marriage and motherhood is far more rewarding"

"I suppose so," said Belle, feeling very stupid.

"When are you leaving?" asked Alain.

"Friday morning," Belle replied.

"Will you be free on Thursday? Perhaps you could come over to my boarding house. You can meet my friends and then, uh, we could spend some time together in my room," said Alain, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh, sure," said Belle, smiling. "I've never been to your boarding house before."

"No, Belle. You don't understand," said Alain, chuckling. "I want to be intimate with you."

"Oh." Belle suddenly realised what he was implying. "I-I don't think I'd be comfortable doing something like that."

"You do love me, don't you?" asked Alain.

"O-of course I do," stammered Belle. "But shouldn't we wait until we are married?"

"But that won't be for quite a while," said Alain. "I don't want to wait that long, do you? I have acquired a prophylactic device that will prevent any unwanted circumstances if that is what you are worried about."

"Unwanted circumstances?" Belle repeated, blinking.

"You know, to prevent you from becoming with-child," said Alain.

"Oh. Well, I guess we could do that," said Belle, a knot tying in her stomach.

"Good," said Alain, grinning from ear-to-ear. "I'll see you on Thursday night."

Belle spent the next week making a list of everything she was going to take to their new home and saying good bye to everyone she had ever known. However, her mind was fraught with worry over what she was planning to do on Thursday night. What if Alain was disgusted by the sight of her naked body? What if she wasn't good enough and she disappointed him? What if the device that Alain had spoken of didn't work and she became with-child?

Belle spent her last day in town packing up all her clothes and books and putting them in two large bags, which she placed next to front door. At five o'clock, she put on her best dress and headed towards the door.

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay and help you pack, Papa?" asked Belle before she left.

"No, darling, you go and spend your last night in town however you want to," Maurice assured her.

Belle arrived at Alain's boarding house half an hour later. Alain greeted her at the door. He introduced her to all of his housemates, who, much like Alain, were all wealthy, handsome, well-mannered young men in their early twenties. Then, the moment Belle had been dreading came.

Alain took her up to his room, which was littered with large, thick medical books and journals. He removed his shirt, exposing his bare chest, which was every bit as magnificent as Belle had imagined it would be. He gently pushed her up against the wall and started kissing her passionately, feeling her body with his hands. Belle suddenly started feeling very uncomfortable. This was the exact same position she had been in the night she had been attacked. She knew Alain meant well, but no matter how he touched her, she couldn't help but be reminded of that night. She couldn't take much more of this.

"Alain, stop," she ordered.

Alain let go of her and stepped back, a shocked look on his handsome face.

"I'm sorry. I just can't do this," Belle sighed.

"Don't you love me?" asked Alain, a twinge of pain in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Alain. I'm just not ready for this. It's not that I don't care for you. I hope you understand," said Belle gently.

"I understand," he murmured sadly.

"Good bye. I'll miss you," Belle promised. She gave him one last kiss on the lips and strode out of the room, firmly shutting the door behind her.

* * *

The next morning, Belle and Maurice woke up early, hitched Philippe up to their old cart, took their belongings outside. They went back into the house to take one last look before they left.

"There are so many memories in this old place," said Maurice, looking around the house fondly. "It's a shame we're leaving it behind. Look, that's where you took your first steps!"

"What's going to have happen to the house, Papa?" asked Belle.

"Madame Bisette and Celine have agreed to watch over it while we are gone. If we decide to stay in the village, we'll sell it," Maurice replied. "Come on, dear. It's best we go now before we change our minds."

Maurice took his daughter's hand and led her outside where Philippe was waiting. He was hitched up to an old cart that held their belongings. Maurice helped Belle into the cart before he climbed in himself and tugged at Philippe's reins. The horse took off down the street and Belle watched the only life she had ever known slip out of her sight. The buildings became less and less familiar the further they travelled. The large, stone buildings soon turned into tiny cottages. The tiny cottages soon turned into wide open fields, which soon became thick, large forests. Belle spent the entire journey staring morosely. Maurice assumed that Belle was still upset over having to leave Alain.

At nightfall, they stopped at a small rundown little inn just outside of Nevers. In an effort to cheer Belle up, Maurice paid for two separate rooms and allowed her to order anything she wanted for dinner.

"Belle, why do you like this boy?" asked Maurice as he watched Belle picking at her cheese soufflé.

"I love him," she murmured sadly.

"Why do you love him?"

"He's handsome and he's intelligent," answered Belle, thinking. "And he's kind. He wants to help people"

"Anything else?" questioned Maurice.

"Actually, I have been having doubts about him lately," Belle admitted. "I used to think I loved him. Now I'm not so sure."

"What is the first thing you think of when you hear his name?"

"I think of how handsome he is," admitted Belle.

"When you think about the future, what do you imagine it is going to be like?"

"I picture myself traveling all over the world," answered Belle excitedly. "Climbing mountains, sailing through harsh storms, exploring dark caves."

"And who is with you?"

"No one," said Belle. "I am usually alone. Sometimes I am accompanied by people, but they are usually faceless. They aren't anyone I know."

"I don't think you really love him, Belle," said Maurice. "I'm not trying to be condescending. I had my fair share of infatuations with the girls in my village when I was your age, though I was always too nervous to approach them. I thought I was in love with them too. However, I can barely even remember their names, even the ones I saw every day for twenty-five years. However, nothing will ever wipe your mother's image from my mind. When I remember your mother, I think of how kind, sweet, intelligent, and talented she was. She was beautiful, but that didn't define who she was for me."

"You're right, Papa," Belle admitted. "I do care for Alain, though I'm not in love with him. I don't really want to marry him, but I told him I would. What is he going to say when he comes looking for me and I turn him down?"

"To be honest, Belle, I don't think Alain really loves you all that much either," said Maurice. "He kept trying to change you into the woman he wanted you to be. You should love someone for what they are, not the person you want them to be, and you shouldn't feel that you should have to change for anyone either. That's one of the things I really loved about your mother. She knew every single one of my flaws and yet she still loved me. She supported my unconventional ambitions and did everything she could to help me."

"It really felt as I were in love with him, Papa," said Belle, looking sadly down at her soufflé.

"You had nothing to compare it to," said Maurice comfortingly. "But I think it's good to have a few infatuations when you are young. When you do fall in love, you'll know it."

Belle quickly finished off her soufflé and pushed the dish away from her.

"I'm going to bed," Belle told her father. "Thank you for dinner, Papa."

Belle trudged up to her room and threw herself down on the bed. She really needed to read something right now. Reading was the one activity that could make her feel better about anything, no matter what it was. Two bags sat on the floor. One contained the clothes she had packed, the other contained her books. Belle dug her hand into the bag and pulled out a book. It was the _The Faerie Queene_. It had always been one of her favourites. But she hadn't read it in months. She hadn't read any of her old books in months. She had just been reading Alain's science books, which she had no interest in whatsoever.

Memories flooded back to her. It all suddenly became clear to her. Alain had made her feel awful for being herself and had forced her to become someone she wasn't. He had made her feel stupid and worthless for dreaming and reading fantasy books. How could she have let him do that to her? Well, that wasn't going to happen again. From now on, she wouldn't let anyone tell her what to do or what to think, no matter what happened. No one was ever going to make her feel bad about being herself again.

* * *

_Thank you to everyone who filled in my survey, again!_


	30. Indigo

**Chapter Thirty**

_May 11th, 1759_

"Well, Belle, here it is," declared Maurice. "Our new home. What do you think?"

"It's certainly nicer than our old house," Belle admitted, looking up at the quaint little white cottage and remembering the tiny dank, rundown house she had grown up in.

"Come on, let's take a look inside."

Belle allowed her father to take her by the hand and lead her inside the house. She looked around and frowned slightly. While their new house was certainly a lot more inviting and warm than their old one, it just didn't feel right to her.

"It hasn't changed much," said Maurice, looking around the house with a look of nostalgia in his eyes. "What do you think, Belle?"

"I can't believe you grew up here, Papa," said Belle, trying as hard as she could to not let her father see her disappointment.

"I can't help but get the feeling that you aren't too impressed," said Maurice, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, Papa. This place just doesn't feel right to me," Belle admitted. "I suppose I will get used to it in time, though."

"Why don't you go and explore the town?" suggested Maurice.

"I don't really feel like it," said Belle, sinking into the window seat.

"There's a bookshop," Maurice told her.

"Really?" Belle asked, looking up excitedly.

Maurice grinned.

"Give Monsieur Devin my regards," he said. "While you are there, pick up some bread and cheese for lunch."

Belle took the money that her father handed to her and skipped out the door. As she walked through the village, she admired the quaint little buildings and conceded that it was much nicer than the area she had grown up in. It was market day and the streets were packed with people. As she navigated her way through the crowds, she noticed a little sign hanging above one of the shops with the word 'bookseller' emblazoned on it. Her heart lurched and she quickly hurried inside. An old, balding man was sitting at a desk, thumbing through an old, thick book with a purple cover. He looked up when she entered the shop.

"Why, hello," he greeted, flashing Belle a kind smile. "Can I help you?"

"Good morning!" Belle chirped. "Are you Monsieur Devin?"

"That's me!" the old man said, beaming.

"My name is Belle. Apparently you know my father."

"Oh, yes!" Monsieur Devin exclaimed. "So you're little Belle? You certainly have changed since the last time I saw you! You have grown up into such a beautiful young woman."

Belle blushed furiously.

"Have you come here for a book?" he asked.

"I'd love to buy one, but I'm afraid I don't have much money," said Belle, looking embarrassed.

"Never mind that," said Monsieur Devin. "Just take one you like and bring it back when you're done with it."

"Oh no, I can't do that," Belle insisted.

"I really don't mind. I do not have much use for money," said the bookseller. "It's always nice to see young people reading. Can I help you choose a book."

"I would like something with a lot of adventure and romance," Belle answered. "I haven't read a fairy story in months!"

"Well, there is this one," said Monsieur Devin, picking out a book from the shelf and handing it to Belle. "_Aurore and Aimée_. It was just released a few years ago. It's got everything you mentioned, and some pirates too."

"I'll take it!" Belle exclaimed excitedly, pressing the book to her chest.

"Just bring it back when you're done," called the bookseller as Belle good bye to him and skipped out the door.

* * *

Gaston pointed his gun up towards the sky and pulled the trigger. The bird that he had been aiming fell out of the sky and landed on the roof of a nearby house.

"Wow, Gaston!" exclaimed LeFou. "You're the greatest hunter in the whole world."

"It landed on a roof," said Gaston, frowning.

"It was still a great shot, though," said LeFou encouragingly.

Gaston ignored him and threw open the door of the house. The house's lone occupant, an elderly woman who had been changing dresses, screamed when he entered. Gaston climbed the stairs up to the top floor of the house, and climbed out the window and onto the roof. He had just picked the goose up in his hands when he saw her. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his entire life. Long brown hair fell down her upper back like a fountain of chocolate. Her lips were so thick and plump he could see them from where he was standing up on the roof. A slim body was hidden beneath a long, blue dress. Her pert rear wiggled as she walked through the streets.

"She's gorgeous," Gaston whispered to himself.

The girl approached one of the shopkeepers and Gaston leaned forward to get a closer look, but, just as he reached the edge of the roof, he lost his balance and came crashing down onto the hard stone street.

"Gaston!" LeFou cried. "Are you alright?"

She would be his wife, Gaston told himself. He would make sure of it. She was the only woman in the entire world good enough for him and he was _not_ going to let her get away.

* * *

"Good afternoon," said a small voice.

Belle looked up from her book to see two enormous chocolate brown eyes peering down at her. A small honey-blonde girl, who couldn't be older than five, was standing next to her.

"Hello there," Belle replied, smiling at the little girl.

"You're pretty," the little girl told her.

"Why, thank you!" Belle exclaimed. A huge, happy grin spread over her face.

"You're new here, aren't you?" asked the girl.

"That's right," said Belle, still smiling. "My father and I just moved here from Paris."

"I wish I could to Paris. I've never been out of this village," the little girl said wistfully.

"Perhaps your Mama and Papa will take you one day," said Belle.

"What's your name?" asked the girl.

"Belle."

"I'm Rosie," the little girl said. "What are you reading?"

"_Aurore and Aimée_," answered Belle, showing the book to Rosie. "It's about two sisters. Oh, and pirates!"

"It sounds very exciting," said Rosie.

"Would you like to borrow it?" offered Belle. "I borrowed it from the bookseller, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you borrowed it as well."

"I-I would, but…"

"But what?"

"I can't read," admitted Rosie, blinking away tears.

"That's nothing to be ashamed of," said Belle gently. "A lot of kids your age can't read."

"Mama and Papa have tried to teach me, but I just can't do it."

"Everyone has their weaknesses. I've always been a good reader, but I was never too good at mathematics. I can teach you if you like," offered Belle.

"It wouldn't be any use," said Rosie sadly.

"Nonsense!" said Belle. "Anyone can learn to read. Now come on, sit down next to me."

* * *

Gaston knocked on the door of the little cottage. He had just learned that Michel's brother had just moved into his old house and he wanted to check him out for himself. The door opened and a short, rotund, balding little man peered out.

"You are Michel's brother?" asked Gaston in disbelief.

"That's right!" the old man declared. "You must be Gaston. I am Maurice. My brother has told me all about you. Come in and meet my daughter."

Maurice grabbed Gaston by the hand and pulled him inside.

"I can't stay. I have to-"

It was at this point that Gaston saw the girl that he had seen that day in the village sitting on the window seat reading a book.

"Belle, this is Gaston, Uncle Michel's protege."

"Good evening," the girl said, glancing up from her book for a few seconds.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" exclaimed Maurice. "Michel left a letter for you. I'll get it. Wait here."

"Take your time!" Gaston called as Maurice disappeared up the stairs. He turned back to Belle. "You are quite pretty," he told her.

"Why thank you," Belle said, smiling at him.

She turned back to her book and turned another page. Gaston sat down next to her.

"Prettiest girl I've ever seen, actually," he told her.

"Thank you," she said again, shifting uncomfortably. She quickly slid to the edge of the seat.

"You are more than pretty. Beautiful, in fact," Gaston told her. He slid across the seat until he was once again sitting right next to her.

"You are very kind," said Belle, standing up. "If you don't mind, I'm trying to read and I'd like some priva-"

Gaston laughed and plucked the book from Belle's hands. She glared at him and reached out to snatch it back. Gaston held it out of her reach and looked at her pityingly. The poor girl was clearly not of sound mind if she preferred to reading to spending time with him. That wasn't an issue, though. A few weeks with him would set her straight.

"This isn't funny! Give it back!" Belle demanded.

Gaston let the book drop to the floor. Belle snatched it up and hugged it to her chest as Maurice came running down the stairs.

"I found the letter," he said, pressing an envelope into the Gaston's hand. "Sorry it took so long."

"Well, I have to get going," said Gaston, glancing up at the clock. He looked over at Belle, who was still glaring at him. "Hopefully, I'll be seeing a lot more of you in the future, though."

Gaston walked to the tavern, completely stuck in a dreamlike state. He couldn't stop thinking about Belle. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and would be a perfect wife for him.

"Why are you late, Gaston?" demanded Acantha as soon as he stepped into the tavern.

"Customers are going to getting here any minute," cried Phaedra.

"Where were you?" asked Xanthia, rushing up behind her two sisters.

"I have just met the woman I am going to marry," Gaston said, flopping down into his antler throne. He had completely redecorated the tavern as soon as Michel had left. Stuffed animal heads lined the walls and, right in the middle, was a big portrait of Gaston himself.

"What?" cried Phaedra and Xanthia together. The two of them promptly burst into tears.

"Who? What's her name?" demanded Acantha, who sounded as if she was planning to kill the woman in questin.

"Belle," Gaston answered. "She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

Those ten words were enough to cause all three of the triplets to start having a toddler-like tantrum. Gaston leaned back in his chair and started to think about his and Belle's life together.

* * *

"My wife would like to have you and your father over for dinner," Monsieur Devin told Belle when she came to return the book the next afternoon.

"Really?" asked Belle, surprised. "Why?"

"She said she really wanted to get to know you," answered the bookseller, shrugging. "Can you come?"

"I guess so."

"Good. Be at our house at seven o'clock. It's the one with the blue roof on the edge of the east side of town," he instructed her.

At seven o'clock that night, Belle and Maurice stood outside the Devins' house. Monsieur Devin opened the door and greeted them with a smile.

"Come in and sit down!" he said. "We're almost ready to eat. It's good to see you again, Maurice. It's been so long."

"It's certainly been a long time," Maurice agreed, following Belle into the house. "Over twenty years, right?"

"Twenty-five to be exact," said the bookseller. "And please, call me Theseus!"

Theseus led them into the dining room where three identical blonde girls were already seated.

"These are my daughters, Acantha, Phaedra, and Xanthia," pointing to each one as he said their names.

The girls glared at Belle. Belle stared back, confused. It seemed as though they were angry at her for some reason. She had only been living in the village for one day. What on earth had she done to upset them?

"So, you're Belle?" asked Acantha, scowling.

"That's right," Belle said, shooting a friendly smile.

"Now, Belle, Ariana has told me that she wants to sit next to you, so I'll put you in the middle on the left-hand side," said Theseus. "Ariana can sit on your right and your father can sit on your left. I'll sit at the head of the table, and the girls can stay where they are.

"She's not _that_ pretty," Belle heard one the triplets whisper as she and her father took their seats.

"Ariana, they're here!" Theseus called into the kitchen.

A tall woman with shining golden hair that fell down to her ankles entered the dining room, holding two plates of food. Her eyes lit up when she saw Belle.

"My, you have grown up into a pretty little thing, haven't you?" she said. "And Maurice, dear, it's good to see you again too! Girls, can you bring the rest of the plates out?"

The triplets grumbled and reluctantly left the room. Ariana placed the two plates of food in front of Maurice and Belle.

"It's nice to meet you, Madame Devin," said Belle.

"Please, dear, call me Ariana."

Belle looked down at the plate of food in front of it. It was the usual fare: potatoes, carrots, onions, and cauliflower. There was just one thing wrong. The steak was dark purple!

"What is this?" asked Belle, touching the steak with her knife.

"Steak," Ariana answered.

"I mean, what animal is it?"

"Azebra, of course!" Ariana exclaimed.

"But aren't zebras native to Africa?" said Belle. "We don't live anywhere near Africa!"

"I said azebra, not zebra, silly!" Ariana laughed and started to cut up her steak.

"What's an azebra?" Belle mouthed to Maurice.

"I don't know. Just eat it and don't cause a fuss," Maurice mouthed back.

Belle reluctantly cut up the steak and took a bite. It didn't taste particularly bad, though it was rather bland. However, the triplets and their parents were wolfing it down as if it were the most delicious thing on the planet.

"Tell me, Belle, are you betrothed to anyone at present?" asked Ariana between bites.

"Uh, no. Well, that's not exactly true," admitted Belle. "One man asked me to marry him, and I told him I would, but now I'm not so sure."

"So you don't intend on marrying him?" asked Ariana.

"No, Madame- I mean, Ariana."

"And this man… Is he attractive?" questioned Ariana.

"Yes! He has these gorgeous violet eyes and the most gorgeous smile in the world," Belle gushed. "And his chest looks absolutely magnificent when he takes his shirt off."

"He sounds gorgeous," said Xanthia dreamily. Her sisters glared at her.

"But you wouldn't be averse to falling in love with an unattractive man?" asked Ariana.

"Of course not!" exclaimed Belle. "If he's kind and accepts me for who I am, then I don't care what he looks like."

"Good, good!" declared Ariana. She turned to Maurice. "Now, Maurice, you are an inventor?"

"Yes," he confirmed.

"Do you go on many 'business trips'?" questioned Ariana.

"What do you mean?" asked Maurice confused.

"Do you go on many journeys? How often do you travel to other towns?" Ariana clarified.

"Not much," answered Maurice. "I used to enter my inventions into competitions all over the country. Unfortunately I haven't had too many good ideas since my darling Sofia passed on."

"You just need to think of a device that would be useful to everyone," said Ariana. She glanced around the room for ideas. "What about a machine that chops up firewood for you?"

"That's an excellent idea!" exclaimed Maurice. "Thank you so much, Madame Devin!"

"Ariana," she corrected him. She stood up and addressed the entire table. "Now, have we all finished our dinner? Who wants dessert?"

The hands of the triplets and their father immediately shot up. Belle and Maurice reluctantly raised their hands as well. Ariana collected each of their plates and shuffled off into the kitchen.

"Mama's gone crazy," Belle heard Xanthia whisper.

"When is she ever not crazy?" Acantha whispered back.

_I'm sorry this chapter is so short and lackluster. I've been busy updating my other stories and dealing with life stuff. You might want to check out a couple of companion one-shots I just wrote. They are both set in the 'Crimson Threads' universe. They are 'Motherhood' (which features an appearance by two of Belle and Adam's future kids) and 'Snowflake', and you can find them on my profile page._


	31. Ebony

**Chapter Thirty-One**

_June 3__rd__, 1759_

The next few weeks were largely uneventful. In the mornings, Belle would head down to the village to buy food and visit the bookshop. After lunch, she would clean the house, feed the animals, tend to their vegetable garden, and help her father with his inventions. She did not enjoy living such a mundane lifestyle, but she soldiered on to keep her father happy. The move to the countryside had done wonders for Maurice's creativity and enthusiasm. He had already installed a device that allowed them to get a good view of anyone standing on their front doorstep. Not that they ever got any visitors.

One morning, as she was buying bread from the baker, she was approached by a short, heavy-set woman with a kind face and curly black hair.

"You're Belle, right?" the older woman asked.

"That's right," Belle confirmed.

"I am Marie Bellamy. I'm married to the baker."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Madame Bellamy," said Belle. She set her basket down on the counter and curtseyed to the older woman.

"Please, dear, call me Marie," the woman instructed. "You're new here, aren't you?"

"That's right," Belle confirmed. "My father and I just arrived two weeks ago."

"Have you made any friends yet?" asked Marie.

"Not really," said Belle. "Well, none my own age."

"We hold a weekly sewing group on Saturday mornings," Marie told her. "A couple of girls your age usually attend. Why don't you come along?"

"That's very nice of you, but I can't sew," Belle said apologetically.

"You can't sew?" repeated Marie incredulously. "Why not? Didn't your mother ever teach you?"

"She died when I was eight," explained Belle. "She wasn't much of a sewer either, for that matter."

"Oh, you poor little thing," gasped Marie. "I can't imagine losing your mother so young. Never mind. We will teach you. Just be at my house at nine o'clock. It's on the west side of town, next to the barber's."

The next morning, Belle arrived at the Bellamy's house to find a small group of boys sitting on the doorstep. The eldest, a dark-haired boy of thirteen who introduced himself as Jacques, took her hand and led her into a small sitting room where Marie, one of the Devin girls, and a group of other women she did not recognise were sitting. Belle thanked Jacques for being so polite and gave the young boy a peck on the cheek. Jacques' cheeks flushed bright red and he promptly ran out the room.

"Belle, this is Corinne Mynatt, Flavie Tolbert, and Genevieve Thibault," said Marie, pointing to two grey-haired older women and a slightly younger, red-haired one who were all sitting together on one side of the room. She turned to a plump older woman who was wearing an expensive pink dress and an obviously fake red wig. She reminded Belle of some of the wealthier ladies she known back in Paris. "And this is Marianne Lemaire, she is married to the provost."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Belle," said Madame Lemaire, standing up to curtsey to the girl. "You really do live up to your name, don't you?"

"And this is Berenice and Xanthia," said Marie, pointing to one of Ariana's daughters, who was sitting next to a pretty red-haired girl.

"Oh, Xanthia and I have met already," said Belle. "Her mother invited me over for dinner."

"Oh, you poor thing!" gasped Madame Tolbert. "She didn't serve those peculiar purple steaks, did she?"

"Oh, those things are just awful!" exclaimed Madame Thibault in disgust. "What animal did she say they were from again?"

"I like Mother's food," Belle heard Xanthia say quietly.

"Madame Laurent still hasn't arrived yet?" asked Madame Thibault, scowling. "That figures. She is never on time."

"Now, Genevieve, she tries her best," Marie reminded her. She pointed Belle over to the empty chair on Xanthia's right side and stuffed a needle, a roll of thread, and a square of linen into her hands. "Now, Belle, you sit over there and I will teach you the basics. I'm going to teach you how to make a little pouch today. Very simple and very easy. Perfect for a beginner."

As Marie leaned over Belle's chair and showed her how to hold the needle, the door flew open and a buxom woman with a mess of long, dark brown hair ran into the room and sat down in the empty seat between Madame Lemaire and Berenice.

"It's about time, Madame Laurent," said Madame Thibault.

"Good morning, ladies," said Madame Laurent, gasping for air. "I'm sorry I'm late. Rosette is outside playing with your boys, Marie. I hope that's alright." It was at this point that she noticed Belle. "Oh, who is this?"

"This is Belle. She's new in town," explained Marie.

"Is that so?" Madame Laurent smiled warmly at Belle. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Belle."

"Thank you," said Belle, smiling back. "It's nice to meet you too."

"Where did you move from?" asked Madame Tolbert.

"Paris," answered Belle.

"Paris?" exclaimed Madame Mynatt. "Heavens, why on earth did you leave?"

"My father wants me to be safe," answered Belle. "A man attacked me as I was walking home a few weeks ago"

"Oh dear!" gasped Berenice. "I hope you were alright!"

"I was fine," Belle assured her. "Papa's brother Michel was visiting us at the time and he offered us the chance to come here and live in his house while he was away traveling."

"Oh, your father is Maurice Desrosiers?" asked Madame Thibault, frowning.

"That's right!" Belle confirmed. "You know him?"

"We grew up together," said Madame Thibault. "Does he still make those silly inventions?"

"He certainly does," said Belle. "And they're not silly. Papa's a genius!"

"I'm surprised he managed to land a wife," said Madame Thibault. "He was always such an odd little thing."

As Belle narrowed her eyes and glared at Madame Thibault, Marie laughed nervously and turned to Madame Mynatt.

"So, Corinne, how are things with you?" she asked.

"Last weekend, my husband and I travelled to Nevers, and he bought me a new spinning wheel," answered Madame Mynatt happily.

"Oh? Double drive or single?"

"A spinning wheel? You better make sure you don't prick yourself on it. You might fall asleep and not wake up for hundreds of years," said Belle, who promptly let out a large cackle.

The other women stared at her.

"You know, like in _Sleeping Beauty_? Haven't you ever read it?" asked Belle.

"I'm afraid I don't read too many books," said Marie apologetically.

"Nor do I," said Berenice.

"They're a waste of time if you ask me," said Madame Thibault sourly.

"Be nice, Genevieve," warned Madame Mynatt.

"So, Belle, you are a pretty girl," said Madame Lemaire. "I trust you have a bevy of admirers. Are you courting someone at present?"

"Not really," said Belle. "I was seeing someone back in Paris. He wants to marry me, actually, but I don't think I will be able to go through with it."

"Why?" asked Marie. "Is he poor?"

"Is he ugly?" questioned Xanthia.

"Is he dim-witted?" Berenice asked.

"Not at all," said Belle. "He is incredibly handsome and incredibly wealthy. And definitely not dim-witted at all! In fact, he is studying to be a doctor."

"Then what on earth was the problem with him?" cried Marie. "He sounds perfect!"

"He wanted me to be someone I wasn't," Belle explained. "And we had completely different plans for the future. He wanted us to settle down in some village and raise children."

"And? What's wrong with that?" demanded Madame Thibault.

"There's nothing wrong with it," said Belle. "It just isn't the sort of life I want to lead. I want to go on an adventure. I want to travel to far-off places and explore beautiful old castles."

"There is an old castle around here," said Xanthia. "You wouldn't want to go there, though. That place is creepy."

"A whole household used to live there," explained Madame Lemaire. "The prince ran off with a servant girl about ten years ago. His wife died a few weeks later. Their son and the servants just disappeared. No one knows what happened to them."

Madame Laurent suddenly became very interested in her sewing.

"I don't think it's there anymore," said Madame Mynatt. "My son went to investigate it a few weeks ago, but he couldn't find it anywhere. It just… disappeared."

"Oh no, it's still there," said Xanthia. "My sister Phaedra passed when she was exploring the forest a few weeks ago."

"No, I'm telling you, it really isn't there anymore," said Madame Mynatt.

"That's right," said Berenice. "My brother went looking forward and he couldn't find it either."

"That's ridiculous," snorted Madame Thibault. "Castles don't just disappear into thin air."

"Perhaps it is invisible," suggested Belle. "Maybe a witch cast a spell on it. And sometimes it is invisible and sometimes it isn't. You just have to be there at the right time."

Madame Laurent shifted uncomfortably. The rest of the women laughed.

"Belle, you don't seriously believe that, do you?" asked Madame Lemaire.

"It's possible!" exclaimed Belle defensively.

"You read too many books, Belle," said Madame Tolbert. "Witches don't exist."

"They could," said Belle. "I mean, no one can prove that they don't exist."

Just as the women burst into laughter once again, the door swung open and Rosie came running into the room. She grabbed Madame Laurent's hand and tried to pull her out of her chair.

"Mama, I'm hungry and Antoine is teasing me," she whined. "Can we go ho- Oh, good morning, Belle!"

"Good morning, Rosie," said Belle, greeting the little girl with a friendly smile.

"You two know each other?" asked Madame Laurent, looking from Belle to her daughter.

"Belle's teaching me to read, Mama!" Rosie told her mother excitedly.

"She's getting to be very good at it, too," Belle said, patting her young friend on the head.

"Is that so?" Madame Laurent smiled at Belle.

"Uh-huh!" Rosie said happily.

"Well, I'll have to invite you over to dinner sometime to thank you," Madame Laurent told Belle. "Come along, Rosie. Good bye, ladies."

"I'm finished!" declared Belle as Madame Laurent and Rosie left the room. She held up her handiwork proudly.

"Belle, dear, you weren't supposed to sew the whole thing together," said Marie, shaking her head.

"I wasn't?"

"No, dear, it's a pouch. You're supposed to leave one side of it open," said Berenice gently.

"Oh, I assumed we were going to cut it open," said Belle, looking very embarrassed. "That makes more sense."

"Don't feel bad, Belle. You're only a beginner," said Marie encouragingly.

"I guess I'm just not cut out for sewing," said Belle apologetically. "If you don't mind, I have to go now. I promised my father I'd help him out with his inventions."

Belle murmured a quick good bye and left the house, making sure to wave good bye to Jacques as she left. She started walking through the streets and, just as she was contemplating whether or not to visit the bookstore on her way home, she heard a familiar deep voice.

"Hello, Belle."

"Oh, good morning, Gaspard," said Belle, glancing around to see the man who had come to visit her and her father a few weeks previously.

"Gaston," the man corrected her.

"Oh, I am sorry," Belle said, laughing slightly.

"That's quite alright," Gaston replied. "How are you?"

"Fine," answered Belle. "The baker's wife invited me over to-"

"I just got back from a two day hunting trip out in the forest," Gaston said, interrupting her. "I shot more than a dozen deer and five geese."

"How exciting for you," said Belle dully.

"Do you have plans for dinner?" asked Gaston.

"Not really," answered Belle. "I'm just making salad for Papa and me."

"Salad?" Gaston wrinkled his nose in disgust. "How would you like to have dinner with me?"

Belle raised an eyebrow. Was he asking her what she thought he was asking her?

"Uh, well, I guess could come over," said Belle, not wanting to be impolite. "But I really am not interested in-"

"Good. You can come round at five," said Gaston. "I want dinner on the table by seven. I'll skin and cut up the deer for you. "

Belle's jaw dropped.

"Wait, you're inviting me over to cook for you?" asked Belle, flabbergasted.

"Of course!" said Gaston. "Who else is going to do it?"

Belle rolled her eyes.

"Sorry, Gaston. I'd rather spend the night with Papa and my books."

"You shouldn't be reading books, Belle," said Gaston. "They'll give you ideas. Soon enough, no man is going to want you."

"I don't care," said Belle. "I wouldn't want a man like that anyway."

She gave him one last glance and hurried up the hill to her and her father's cottage.

* * *

_October 31__st__, 1759_

"I can't believe you are seventeen already," said Maurice wistfully. "I swear I was holding you in my arms for the first time just a few days ago.

"Oh, Papa, stop being so soppy," said Belle, swallowing a mouthful of cake.

Though Belle was the one who usually cooked, Maurice had taken over her duties for the day so that Belle could enjoy her birthday without anything distracting her. He had even managed to make a passably decent cake.

"It's my only child's seventeenth birthday. My little Belle has become a young woman. I think I'm entitled to be a little soppy," said Maurice. "I can't say I miss those early days, though. You had quite a set of lungs. Of course, I say that, but then I think back to those happy moments, when we used to read and play and cuddle together. They were worth the constant crying and diaper changes."

"Papa!" cried Belle, her cheeks growing red with embarrassment.

"Oh, Belle, we were all babies once," said Maurice, chuckling. "It's not as if any of your friends are around to hear me."

"I don't have any friends, Papa," said Belle, looking sadly down at her cake.

"That isn't true, Belle," said Maurice. "What about the bookseller? And that little girl who comes to visit sometimes?"

"I meant friends my own age, Papa," said Belle. "Not that Rosie and Monsieur Devin aren't lovely, but the age gap is just too much."

"What about that young man I see you with sometimes?" asked Maurice.

"Gaston? I don't think I've ever met someone quite as distasteful as him," said Belle, scowling. "I just don't see eye-to-eye with the people in this town, Papa. They're nice and all, but we've got nothing to talk about. I want adventure. I want culture. They're happy just staying in this village and living their lives. I'm not saying that's not a fulfilling life choice, but it's just not for me. I want more than this provincial life."

"I don't know, Belle," said Maurice, frowning. "I know of a lot of people who, upon realising their dreams, weren't completely happy with the results. However, I will support you no matter what you decide to do. I look forward to seeing how you change over the next few years, whether you choose to get married or go off an adventure or write a book. I would like some grandchildren, though."

"Papa!" Belle groaned.

"If you don't want to have children of your own, that's okay too," said Maurice quicky. "It would be nice to relive all those happy moments again without having to deal with the hard stuff, though."

"Thank you for dinner, Papa," said Belle, yawning and pushing her empty plate away. "I might go up to bed now."

"Wait, there's something I need to give you," said Maurice. He stood up and left the room. He returned a few moments later, carrying a large, square package wrapped in brown paper.

"What is it, Papa?" asked Belle curiously.

"I found this outside our door today. Someone must have dropped it off while you were out riding Philippe today," he explained. He held out a small envelope. "This was with it."

Belle opened up the envelope and read the hastily scrawled writing.

_Dear Belle,_

_Heard it was your birthday today. I had this made especially for you._

_From,_

_The handsomest man in town._

"Gaston got me a present," said Belle, surprised.

"He did? That was nice of him," said Maurice.

"I'm surprised," said Belle. "He has always seemed so self-centred. Perhaps he's not as awful as I thought he was."

"Open it," urged Maurice.

Belle laid the package on the table and ripped open the paper. Upon seeing what was inside, both her and her father's jaws dropped.

The gold-framed portrait took up almost half of their table. The image of a bare-chested Gaston standing triumphantly on top of a cliff, holding a blunderbuss in one hand and a deer carcass in the other was embedded on the canvas. A smug, self-satisfied grin was spread across the hunter's face, and his skin was significantly more bronzed than the real Gaston's skin.

"It's the thought that counts, I suppose," said Maurice. "At least he is self-confident. You've got to give him that."

* * *

_Once upon a time, a prince lived in a shining castle…_

The cherubs and angels the Beast remembered from his childhood were long gone. Statues of terrifying, demonic creatures stood in their place. But the Beast could stand them, in spite of their dreariness.

Before the curse, the stained glass windows that decorated one side of the west wing had images of angels adorned upon them. Now, they showed images of his encounter with the enchantress ten years previously, forever reminding him of that fateful day. He had tried to smash them on numerous occasions, however not even the largest boulder he could find could make a crack in the tauntingly colourful images. But the Beast could stand them as long as he avoided looking at them. He kept them covered with a red velvet curtain just in case.

However, the portrait of the young man that hung on the wall of the Beast's bedchamber angered him more than anything else. The portrait had been painted in November, 1749, just a few weeks before the enchantress visited the castle. Adam had been only ten years old at the time. However, as the Beast aged, the portrait seemed to age with him, showing a vision of the man he would have become if he had never been cursed. The Beast couldn't even bear to look at it anymore. Every time he thought of the man he could have been if he hadn't been cursed, he flew into a fit. It just wasn't fair. He was more monster than man now. He hunted like a monster, ate raw meat like a monster, and slept on the ground like a monster.

The Beast reached out and slashed the portrait with his claws. He caught a glance of himself in the cracked mirror on the opposite side of the room and he turned away, covering his face with his hands. His twenty-first birthday was in less than four months' time. In three and a half months, the curse would become permanent and his fate would be sealed forever, unless he managed to win the love of another.

_But who could ever learn to love a beast?_


End file.
